Seer
by adamheap
Summary: A story following Taku Kelmut, a Hork-Bajir seer living in the years after the Yeerk war
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The Sun had briefly emerged from behind a great wall of clouds. The rain ceased about ten minutes ago, leaving the ground and the trees damp to the touch. I would take this opportunity to go off in search of food, perhaps to bring some back for the family if I found the bark worthy. I pulled myself up from my comfortable seating position and stretched, feeling the bones in various stiffened limbs click back into their appropriate positions, having been lax during my many hours of rest.

I yawned, taking in the cool Earth air and exhaling, seeing my breath form a small ball of steam. Shaking off what was left of the deep slumber that the change in weather had disturbed, I bounded off in search of much needed breakfast.

From my tall home tree I descended, losing sight of the distant mountains in the horizon that signalled the border of our lands. The sun was now shining elegant rays across the land, casting silhouettes over the ground like loyal companions, dancing as my people did through tall pines and spruces.

They slowly invaded the land, similarly awoken by the sun's arrival. My people, young and old, short and tall, emerging from the warmth of their homes, stretching and yawning, yearning to begin a new day.

I bounced away from home and headed north. I passed great open grasslands, bordered streams that glistened in the light of the sun, and pounced hastily through great armies of trees. I shouted my greetings to passers-by, equally eager to partake of the days finest offerings from trees of such variety and taste, and they grunted back in satisfied but tired stupors that the first hour or so after sleep brought.

With young muscles I threw myself ever higher into the canopies, bouncing effortlessly from trunk to trunk, my feet, with some deep inner sixth sense, finding and kicking against thick branches that shook under the weight, causing leaves all around to rustle like a chorus of maracas. My hands sometimes caught onto higher, thinner branches, changing my direction ever so slightly, guided by my nostrils that occasionally sniffed at the air, forever searching out the slightest whiff of what I was looking for.

My body flung forward, and with a thump collided with a large pine, my elbow and knee blades held forward to pierce the skin. They held me in place, and while I sat there amongst the crowded flora, I lifted my snout high, sensing the distinctive fragrance of that which I desired somewhere over to my left.

Somewhere hidden in the depths of the maze of trees, I spotted just what I had been looking for. A large maple, so far untouched by my people this season, its bark fresh and begging to be harvested. I hurdled over a few branches until I sat high up, surrounded in dense outgrowths that ended in beautifully coloured leaves, snugly pressed to the trunk.

Pleased with my finding, my tongue lolled from my snout and licked up against the wonderful bark, made to taste even sweeter as it dripped with moisture from the rain. I lifted my arm and sliced down with my wrist blade into the succulent layer. With a wriggle of the arm, a long slab began to pull loose, and eventually came away from the tree with a persuasive twist. The underlying skin of the tree dripped with sap, and I greedily lapped it up with my tongue, before I pulled myself up to a branch sturdy enough to hold my weight. Using the blades on my knees, I was able to cut the long bark slab into small, easily edible chunks, and I threw one particularly appealing piece into my mouth, letting it grow moist with my saliva. The tastes swirled pleasurably through my senses and caused me to smile quite dopily, and before long the bark had softened enough to become chewable.

These minutes alone every morning provided me with ample time to think, to ponder any current issues that had to be resolved, but today held no such responsibilities. At least, not yet. I had no meetings to attend, no interviews to perform. I had the day to myself, and I planned to use it selfishly, because selfishness was not a pleasure I was often privileged with. I would spent the morning feasting and bringing this delicious bark back for my family and friends, then perhaps I would spend the rest of the day in places I had never explored, meeting new trees and new acquaintances.

I would finish the day by the campfire that would no doubt appear, and bask in the warm orange glow with those close and those unfamiliar, getting lost in some new story, or perhaps even telling one myself.

I had plenty of stories to tell. You wouldn't have thought so, being only three years old, but in those three years I had faced challenges and tasks that no Hork-Bajir should face, visited locations where Hork-Bajir should never wander. I have talked to those whom Hork-Bajir would never usually come into direct contact with. And I am grateful for it all.

The first few months of my life, however, were no different than anyone else's, and somehow those are the times that I remember most vividly, despite such a young age. I could even recall in detail my first moments in this world. The first time I opened my eyes.

I could remember the smells and the noise, the first workings of my senses as I emerged into the world. I was wrapped us, held like I had been stuck in a cocoon, my limbs crossed against my torso, head pressed to my chest. My eyes were not yet open, but around me I heard the urgent rustling of movement, and I felt something warm and living lift me into the air. Two appendages held me tightly, lovingly, providing necessary comfort as my body slowly began to unfurl and awaken. Something cool and dry rubbed over me gently, ridding me of liquid ooze that coated my form. It found its way all over, and by the time it was complete, I had unwrapped from my stiffened ball.

I was further shuffled around, a frozen breeze connecting for the first time with my skin, causing me to shiver vigorously. However, that was soon dampened, as I was carefully dropped down and a soft, warm surface, and more appendages wrapped around me like bandages. The breeze dropped, and my quivering body regained its warmth.

The noises around me gifted me further comfort, distant voices that grew louder as my ears adjusted to my new, much more open environment. They were symbolic, organised into some form of language, but they were also soft, almost whispers. I can't remember well enough how many voices I could make out, but they spiralled from any and every direction.

There was one voice that was dominant, and it caused the warm surface below me to rumble, ascend and descend. I twitched, kicking my legs out behind me, testing the muscles that had sat in a near-motionless sleep for so long, and I gripped the surface below me with my fingers, causing it to react quite abruptly.

After a few moments of fidgeting and taking a few heavy breaths, I was able to open my eyes.

The world around me was strange. So much detail to take in, so many objects to focus on. My weary eyes accustomed to the light, and I blinked repeatedly and rubbed my upper limbs against them, validating their unusual and wondrous existence. I lifted my head clumsily from the surface and bent my neck backwards, looking almost directly upwards at a collection of green moving objects, all starting right back down at me. Overwhelmed, I rested my head back down, closed my eyes, and covered them in a tangle of limbs.

There was a noise before me, a squeak followed by deep cluck. More appendages shuffled me, and I realised that I was encased. It was warm and comfortable, and I once again opened my eyes to the big scary world.

Something was looking down towards me, slowly motioning, swaying just barely. My eyes focused on the big green object, but narrowed as a short breeze erupted from it.

I fidgeted again, but this time moved myself closer, curious. My limbs clutched tightly to the surface below me as I stopped, my face just barely apart from the thing in front of me. Using the rapidly growing strength that my body was gaining, I lifted my neck again, a little higher this time, to gaze into two large eyes staring right into mine. Big red orbs disrupted by a thick slit, bearing down onto me. There was a sudden sense of need, of yearning, and my limbs clutched ever tighter around the creature that watched me. I continued to observe it, and it paid just as much focus back down to me, cooing and purring, its appendages holding me close and protecting me.

I shivered again as the cold air tugged at the lowest of my limbs, but the protector's grip around me tightened, pulled me close against the warm surface once more, and I was satisfied. I shuffled forward just enough so that I could rest my snout on the big breathing green object in front of me, looking directly into the eyes behind it.

The object moved as the closest voice spoke, and the breath that came from it provided yet more heat over my body. By now, my ears had unclogged, and I could make out sounds just as they were meant to be heard.

At the time, of course, I had no idea what the strange jumble of sounds meant, but I still remember it so clearly now that the conversation seems like one that I was fully involved in.

The creature that I had laid my snout on was the first that I head clearly. "_Kawatnoj_ sleep on Pok's face." It chuckled, warm breath again curling around my needy body.

Further laughter around me, audible, but not overpowering. "_Kawatnoj _so good. Already want kiss!" Another voice from behind spoke up.

There was more movement to my right. Another figure entered my field of vision, also poking its snout in my direction. "Has Mago eyes. And Mago nose."

"Has Pok's nose." The protector whispered, gently rubbing my snout with the hard surface of its own. I squirmed a little, and vocalised a whimper.

The new figure moved forward, and I saw its eyes, too, just as secure and inviting as the protector's. It rubbed the back of my neck, and gently down to my torso, but a little too hard. I squeaked in retaliation.

"Not too hard, Mago. Hurt _Kawatnoj._" The protector said.

"But _Kawatnoj _strong. Healthy." The second figure replied, now moving closer to the protector. They embraced, all the while still gazing down to me.

There was a third voice that chirped up from behind us, momentarily distracting the pair's attention. "_Kawatnoj_ have name? Little Brother need name!"

The four big eyes focused on me yet again. Eager for their attention, I reached forward with a forelimb, tugging lightly at a great, sharp horn that protruded from the protector's head. It chuckled again and playfully pulled my limb away.

"Need name." The second figure murmured. "Good name."

The protector hummed, vibrating the beak that my head was laying on. "Yes. Need name."

I pulled my body closer into the protector's chest, curling up into a ball and feeling a great sense of security in the view of these creatures. However, I let go of eye contact, curious as to the rest of my surroundings, and already feeling exhausted from the unknown ordeal that I had just emerged from.

"Have name." A voice said, the surface that I laid down on vibrating.

"What name?"

"Name _Kawatnoj_ Taku. Taku Kelmut."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The first few days of my life were spent clinging tightly to my mother's torso. I took advantage of the care and the body heat that she could offer in the cool climate of our home, and occasionally she would take me away from our tree to explore the local canopies. Even such a small place seemed like a vast universe to my child eyes, filled with trees and the big green creatures that roamed them. It was scary, daunting, and it made me cling to mother even tighter whenever we ventured elsewhere. Eventually, she would start to pry me from her stomach much more frequency and encourage me to explore home on my own two feet. I was able to walk just hours after my birth, which is nothing unusual for Hork-Bajir, and after a while I had gained enough confidence to walk around the home tree unsupervised. Mother and Father were always close by, though.

"Taku!" My mother called as I shimmied my way up a thick branch above the nest. "Taku be careful."

The words were still meaningless to me at that point, but her presence alone turned me back. I grunted and lifted my arms towards her, and she relented to hoist me into the air and embrace me over her shoulder. I clung tightly around her neck, nipping at it lightly with my beak to indicate hunger.

"Taku hungry again?" She sighed, the vibrations through her neck only making me latch on tighter. I squeaked in validation.

And that was basically it for that first week or so. Either clutched to my parents and feeding with their assistance, or tentatively mapping out my tree with a child's enthusiasm. To my parents, I was no different from any other Hork-Bajir (except for the usual claims that I was the most handsome _kawatnoj_ who had ever lived, of course), and that thought would not change for a little while longer.

They would soon find out that I was in fact something a little out of the ordinary. I hate thinking of myself like that, but there is no use in denying it when my living and occupation depend entirely on it. While still a child, not yet speaking my first words or chewing my own bark, I was just like one of them. Looking back, I'm not sure whether I would have preferred it that way. I could have been a normal Hork-Bajir. Naïve, innocent. Care-free.

But I am what my people fondly refer to as a _seer_. I never truly understood how a seer arises, other than it being a genetic anomaly, but it is often seen as a necessary occurrence by my people. In these times, especially.

I was born in the year 2009. It was a time of relative peace compared to the decades that came before. I feel fortunate to be born at a time when my people have settled into a new home, but there is always much work to be done when we live on a foreign world where we are no longer the most prominent species. My people sometimes try to talk to me about the work that I am involved in, but they rarely understand because it is often so complicated. In many ways, our lives are much more complicated now than they were in the Great War. From what I have been told, anyway.

As I have mentioned, my anomaly was not noticed for some time after my birth. I had no way to really show them that I was different, apart from perhaps a slightly smoother and more organised formation of my speech, but then my first words came late. Father says that I actually spoke my first words later than most other _kawatnoj_. I remember that, too.

Six days had passed since I had entered the world. Mother chewed up some pine bark to a pulp for me to feast upon, spitting it out into her hands and letting me feed from them while she chatted with a stranger who was passing by. I wasn't really paying attention to their discussion, too focused on my food to really care about anything else.

I was beginning to get used to my surroundings, and now they no longer seemed quite so overwhelming. The trusting and naïve Hork-Bajir mind was rapidly developing, for the time dominant over the anomalous part that would later reveal itself. I greeted strangers with the same mixture of non-interest and trust that I gave to those I had grown to know, excluding my parents, who gained special privileges for obvious reasons.

In the midst of eating, I would perk up when I heard familiar words, whether they were names of familiar people or anything that I associated with food or attention. A lot of the times when other people would visit, they gave a lot of focus to me, which, as I found out later, was them offering my parents congratulations and introducing themselves to me for the first time. I heard my name a lot during these particular conversations. However, it proved a bit of a mouthful, so it didn't turn out to be my first word.

No. My first word was toe. That is what Mother tells me. A little anticlimactic. I am still certain that it was just another case of making silly mouth sounds for entertainment, because that was something I did often. A particular mouth sound that sounds a little like "thpit" always sent me into giggling fits. It still brings a chuckle from me today.

So in a case of making stupid noises, my first word was uttered with a mouthful of chewed pine bark. Mother was understandably pleased and rewarded me with a loving cuddle, clucking encouragingly into my ear. Her friend offered congratulations, and even held me herself for a moment before I reached back for Mother, preferring her touch.

"Taku say word!" Mother announced to the world. "Taku so clever!"

Enclosed in her grip, I gazed up at her, more attentive to the fact that my food had disappeared. I vocalised my discontent with tears, and Mother took the hint. She was still bouncing, but composed enough to chew up another slab of bark for me.

My _actual_ first word came that later that evening, though after my last "first word", the reaction wasn't quite as revelatory. Father returned from harvesting bark, quick to learn the news that Mother was so ecstatic about.

He arrived in our tree with a thud, steadying himself on the midpoint of two separating branches with a big grin on his face. Under his arms, his carried the day's finest harvest, adjusting it and dropping it all in the designated storage area, a large hole in the tree that was dug out to protect it's contents from the rain.

"Mago home." Mother summarised.

"Yes. Mago home." He smiled, taking a particularly large slab of bark and bringing it between them, sitting down on a sturdy low branch. With deft precision, he raised it up and brought it back down onto the blade that protruded from his knee. It split into near-equal halves. He kept one for himself, and gave the other to Mother who tucked in eagerly.

Mother smiled to him after taking a bite. "Taku say word. Taku say toe."

"Say toe?" He looked a little baffled, eyes falling to me as I crawled forcefully between them, taking up as much space as I could on their laps to achieve their focus. My mission was successful, but doubtful due to my invasive crawl. Father lifted my chin with a finger so that we made direct eye contact.

"Taku say word." He said proudly. "Taku take long time to say word."

"Long time." Mother agreed, rubbing my back. "But blades grow good. Taku be good harvester. Like Mago."

Father was swelling with pride, grinning toothily down at me. "Take Taku out to harvest tomorrow."

I still find it amusing how my parents initially saw me as more of a tree harvester at that age, instead of a storyteller or a teacher. As it eventually turned out, the opposite was true.

Father moved his beak to nudge mine. "Taku want to harvest tree?"

I stared at him curiously. Father was addressing me, and I had no idea why.

"Taku come with Dada? Find tree? Help Dada cut bark?"

I grew excited, happy that sufficient attention was being put my way. In the excitement I tried to impersonate him, grunting out a sentence made up purely of gibberish. Mother and Father both laughed approvingly. Father sat me up straight on his lap.

"Taku say not-words. Have to say words." He lifted a leg, pulling his foot close to his chest and into my eye line. With a large finger, he indicated the thick claws that were his toes. "Taku say toe?"

I leaned forward and grabbed a hold of the closest claw, using my sense of touch to investigate it. Then I inspected my own. It was much smaller.

This activity bored me, though, and I gazed up wide-eyed at them both, pleading for more attention.

"Taku say toe." Mother urged from my left. "Say again for Dada."

They hadn't realised that the utterance of "toe" was a coincidence, and my apparent refusal to repeat it upset them just a little, but not enough to put them off their dinner. They continued to feed as I wriggled and muttered gibberish in their laps.

There is one family member who I have so far neglected to really mention, mostly because he was busy at the school tree for that first week, only returning home when I was sleeping or feeding from Mother. My bigger brother, a year old at the time, arrived home shortly after Father, having spent the day with his peers. Due to the rapid growth of Hork-Bajir juveniles, at his age he was already standing up to my parent's necks, though at this point his growth was decelerating. He was nevertheless tall for his age, with impressive elbow blades and a shorter, muscly tail.

He had a lengthy conversation with our parents, but I was too distracted by a nearby squirrel to care. My trance was rudely ended by a paired of hands that raised me into the air by my armpits. I protested, but the hands clumsily turned me around and I came face-to-face with my captor.

"Lenk take little brother Taku for story time." He exclaimed, chattering his jaw in anticipation.

I tried to turn back, eventually craning my neck to see where the friendly squirrel had gone. It was no longer there, and I huffed indignantly, frowning at my brother who didn't even seem to notice.

"Yes, Lenk take Taku if Taku want." I heard Mother instruct. "Need to be with brother for time."

"More time." Father followed up. "Need see brother more."

Lenk's big eyes watched me curiously, his head cocked. "Hello, Taku."

I reached and grabbed a hold of his snout playfully, making incoherent mouth sounds again.

"Say, hello Lenk!" He suggested, moving his head around to stop me sticking my claws into a nostril. "Say, hello, brother!"

I had no interest in repeating whatever he had to say. Instead, my response was a sneeze, spraying his face with a light drizzle of mucous. Mother and Father found it hilarious, but Lenk had immediately lost the motivation to play, gently dropping me to the tree's wicker platform and rubbing at his face in disgust.

"Taku sneeze on Lenk." He groaned in protest.

"_Kawatnoj_ do," Mother said, still chuckling lightly. "But sneeze not worst thing _kawatnoj_ do." She took my brother's place, lifting me from the ground and allowing me to clutch around her neck. "Lenk go with Mago. Help make fire for story time." She stroked gently over my back, receiving a thankful purr in return. "Want good fire for Taku first time."

As the sun began to tickle the tips of the trees around us, Mother awoke me from a brief nap and pulled me to her chest. I held on close as she expertly descended out home tree, her feet touching down on rustling forest litter. My curious eyes wandered, head lifted and turning to get a better look at the base of the great pillars in which we lived, seeing them from angles I hadn't seen them from before.

Mother carried me through the dense forest into a large clearing. The canopies of trees ended, overtaken by a huge expanse of blue sky, turning to a light orange where the sun was quickly setting. Clouds hung overhead, a great fascination to me at the time, gradually migrating away from us, and a lake passed by in the centre of the clearing, winding through the grassland like a twisted twig and filling the air with the sound of lapping water. A group of people had congregated beside the lake, milling around with small slabs of wood or bark, barking and conversing with each other. Behind them, a pillar of light smoke rose from the ground, and as we approached further, a faint crackling noise could be heard from it. Once we had squeezed through the crowd, the source of smoke was revealed. A large pile of vegetation and wood had been formed, and from it licked something orange and glowing. Heat pressed against my cool skin.

I clutched tighter to Mother and buried my head against her chest. Nevertheless, she proceeded and sat down on the ground about ten feet from the glowing hot thing – as I found out later, simply the campfire that we make every few nights for socialising in the late evenings.

My short attention span at that age meant that I was quick to discard my worries for the fire, especially when I started to receive a large amount of attention from the other people around us, who seemed eager to meet me and have conversations with me, even though I understood next to nothing of what they said. I watched their faces as they cooed over me, seeing their jaws flapping and hearing the cheery grunts and huffs that came forth, gazing at each face while my mind subconsciously stored them and their sounds into my memory. Mother talked to them and eventually began receiving the majority of the attention, much to my grievance, so I clawed at her neck and fidgeted on her chest.

The campfire continued to roar without me paying much notice to it, but everyone else in the area had finally settled, huddled together in a messy circle around it, some closer in, some further away. They were there for the heat that it provided, when the natural air of our home is cool enough to keep you shivering throughout the night. I admit that throughout my life, story nights are by far my favourite. Even as a tiny child, I was enjoying the extra warmth and company that gatherings brought.

The atmosphere quietened as the people became tired. The sun had set enough that the fire light became our main aid to visibility, setting everything into a cosy orange tone. Many were silent, awaiting the main purpose of the event.

"Need story before sleep." A voice whispered to the crowd from across the fire. Several whistled their agreement.

"Happy story." Another suggested. "Happy story for Taku first story?"

"Yes. Happy story. Good end." Mother said, throat vibrating against my rested cheek.

"Happy story for Taku." The people echoed. I perked up at the constant muttering of my name, now sitting up straight on Mother's lap and examining the surroundings.

A storyteller was chosen, and he enthusiastically delved into his tale. However, my interest lay not with his words, but with the fire that I had seemingly neglected. I watched and admired the pretty flicks of orange and yellow, the way the wood beneath it crackled and popped as it fuelled the flames. I pulled myself away from Mother, who was willing to let me explore, and sat a few feet forward, gazing into the fire.

It intrigued me immensely, and for a long while I was totally engrossed, unmoving and observing as it licked the air above me. I couldn't understand it, for it looked both solid and not. One second a single lick was there, and then it wasn't. The pieces of bark and wood below glowed more constantly. Did the orange stuff come from them? If the orange stuff was on the wood, and I could physically touch the wood, could I touch the orange stuff in the air?

My mind simply had to know. I crawled further forward so that I was within arm's reach of the lower pieces of deposited wood. The heat was more intense the closer I got, and now I was panting quite heavily. Nonetheless, I was so determined to understand the strange thing before me that I simply couldn't back away.

A single piece of bark jutted out from the pile, and on occasion a small piece of orange would flicker teasingly over it. That was my target area. I leant forward, rested on one arm, the other at the ready.

The orange returned, wiggling over the wide slab of wood, taunting me. I swiped forward with my right arm and wrapped my fingers around… nothing. There was nothing there.

For the first short moment, that is.

I pulled my hand back sharply as I felt a new sensation ravish my hand. An intense, lasting pain that stayed even when I had withdrawn a few feet from the culprit. I screamed to announce my distress as the pain continued to throb over my hand.

"Taku!" I heard my mother's voice. I headed towards it, desperate for her to rid me of the stinging. I felt her arms pull me in, and she held me tightly against her stomach.

"Taku not play with fire!" She warned in a sympathetic but stern tone. "Fire hot!"

I heard the word, and in my distress I placed my tongue and motioned my cheeks, repeating it loudly. "Hot!"

Mother was too focused on helping with my pain to celebrate, but she announced it anyway, much to the amusement of the others. "Taku say second first word! Yes, fire is hot, Taku."

"Hot." I agreed. Tears ran down my cheeks as I continued to voice my discomfort, rubbing my afflicted hand against her chest.

Someone had fetched some water, and Mother held my wrist as the cold liquid from the lake was poured from a container over my hand. It soothed the pain initially, but as soon as the water stopped it returned. I cried for a long time, longer than it took for the night's stories to end and for everyone to retire home.

Mother held me tighter than ever that night to help me to sleep, but my child mind was still reeling from the shock of my first contact with pain.

That was not the only thing that my brain considered that night. It was still so curious, so fascinated by the flames. I wanted to know what it was, _why _it was. Why it hurt when I touched it. My mind was developing quickly, and already I was searching for answers to the world around me. This may not have been too unusual for Hork-Bajir, but it was the first step that I took towards what I have become today.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The world around me, to my eager and curious juvenile eyes, was a weird and wonderful place. I explored the ever expanding lands around our home tree, now able to walk on my own two feet without the handicapping unsteady gait that inexperience brought.

My family and I visited two more campfire nights that week, though I made sure to stay away from the open fire on those occasions. Instead, I listened with focused attention on the people around me. They talked, motioned with hands and heads, told stories and slept, and with a desperation to learn I took it all in, storing as much information as I could into my head. In just that week, my vocabulary increased considerably, and I was already able to convey simple messages: Could you feed me, please? I am tired, may I sleep? Mama, I have a splinter, please help!

At least, that is how it sounded to me at the time.

"Mama!" I squeaked tearfully. "Taku spinter!"

"More splinter?" She groaned, pulling me up into her lap and inspecting my body. "Tell Mama where is splinter?" She asked.

I sobbed and pushed myself forcefully against her. "Hand spinter. In hand." I lifted the inflicted hand and limply dropped it to her chest. She carefully took it in her own and lowered her head so that her snout came within inches, and she inspected it closely.

Then she laughed. "Splinter so small! Why Taku cry for splinter so small?"

"Spinter hurt…" I grumped.

With graceful ease and a motherly smile, she used the tips of her claws to pull the miniscule piece of sharp wood from the palm of my hand and flicked it from our tree. "Splinter gone."

I pressed tighter against her chest, arms wrapped around her back, putting her through a little discomfort as a knee blade pressed to her belly. I craned by neck upwards to look into her eyes, pleading for a kiss which she was more than happy to gift me. She lowered her head so that her two large head blades connected with my stumpy, undeveloped ones.

"Taku better now." She whispered, her great snout motioning in front of mine. "Taku want to get bark with Dada today?"

Father (or Dada as I knew him at the time, a colloquialism that my people had adopted in recent years) had been taking me to the harvesting grounds daily to aid in my development, showing me all the techniques necessary like climbing difficult trees, making and mending nest wicker and stripping edible bark. Being an accomplished tree herder himself, he took pride in gifting all of his little techniques to me and was overjoyed when I paid extra attention to his lessons. He had already taught my big brother all that he needed to know, and he was certain that I would be just as successful.

Later that day, he collected me from the home tree, allowing me to clutch to his belly while he made his way to the nearest harvesting grounds. Once there, he brought us to a tall maple that looked over a long narrow clearing. It was late morning, and there were many people in the area collecting bark for their own families. Father made sure that we were on an empty tree so that there was more space for practise, but also made sure that there were others in neighbouring trees in case he lost me. I was still very young and growing ever more explorative, so he made sure that I was always under some supervision, even it was that of complete strangers.

"Taku help Mago get maple bark today!" He chimed, letting me drop down onto a high branch near the canopy. "Mago show Taku how to cut maple."

"Maple." I repeated, testing the word successfully.

Father nodded and jumped to the branch just below and to the right of mine. From my perch, I could easily see how he made the incision, how he used specific blades to tear great chunks from the tree body. He bounced lightly on his branch to make sure that it could hold his weight.

"Always do." He told me. "Mago not want Taku to fall. Taku might get hurt." He bounced again, a little more exaggerated this time just to get the message across. The method was instinctive, and I even did it without having to be taught when exploring the home tree, but it was a lesson he felt compelled to establish.

"Do." I parroted with a grin, standing up on my own branch and copying his motions. The end of the branch wobbled, its leaves rustling against those of a neighbouring tree.

"Now Taku watch." Father instructed, facing the thick trunk of the tree. "Use wrist blade first." Using his talon feet and his tail, he clutched firmly to the branch, and with his spare hand he held onto the one that I was sat on to steady himself. With an audible swipe, his thrust the sturdy wrist blade of his right arm into the tree bark, the blade slicing clean through to the point where it widened, just above where it connected to his arm. He tussled it back and forth a little to loosen the bark from the underlying layers, then retreated it.

"Hole in bark now." He observed. "Can't pull yet. Hole not big enough. Need to make loose more."

Now he used the two other blades on his right arm. Starting from the gash already created, he pulled downwards with a less urgent pace, using the next blade down from the wrist.

I began to wonder about the design of our blades. Looking at my own, I noticed subtle differences in the shapes and sizes. My blades were still far from fully developed, but even now the differences were clear: The wrist blade was a little longer and with a much sharper point, the base of it widening considerably from there to lessen the chance of it shattering upon contact with the trunk. The second blade, in the middle of the forearm, was more uniform in gradient, and the sharpest area was along the downward curve, not at the tip.

Father pulled down the sides of the gash with that second arm blade, pulling with the sharp curved area to slice through it with ease. He did this on two sides, leaving the slab of bark dangling pathetically from the trunk.

"Loose now!" He barked with a grin. "Now can just pull." He demonstrated this, firming his grip on the standing branch and yanking at the loose slab with one hand. It came loose with a snap.

I squealed with delight, the fresh scent of harvested bark pervading my senses. I reached forward with both hands to indicate my need for the nourishment. "Taku hungry!"

Unable to turn me down, and despite our lesson only just beginning, Father relented and cut up the slab of bark, chewing some up into mush for me. My teeth were still not developed enough to chew fresh bark for myself.

Having had my fill of bark, and Father treating himself to some as well, our lesson continued. I was shown numerous techniques, which were mostly repetitive (our people aren't natural teachers), but I learned some useful tips nonetheless. For instance, I was shown how to harvest bark surrounding awkward branches, and during another break Father tried to teach me about which animals I should avoid and which I could happily admire close-up. I was already fond of the squirrels, having seen plenty in and around our home tree, and I found another on the maple tree to sit back and gaze upon, leg blades hooked into my branch for support.

I babbled to myself, "Taku tree. Squirrel. Taku eat. Bark. Bark bark bark…"

Father was just below, still gnawing on a thin slab and watching the activities occurring in neighbouring trees. His head soon looked skywards, up towards me, and in between chews and swallows he said, "Taku be good for get bark. Taku have good blades. Good blades like Lenk."

I giggled and squirmed on my branch so that I rested upon my belly, neck curled around the branch to look directly at him. "Taku get bark!" I agreed.

About to begin collecting bark to bring home, Father hesitated when a low rumbling noise infiltrated our air space. He perked up and pounced onto another branch that was better suited to looking out over the clearing below, hanging with an arm and a leg and lifting his head high.

"Dada." I called, then proceeding to impersonate the rumbling sound and putting my hands over my ears, disturbed by the alien noise.

He found the source of the noise pollution and turned his head to glance back at me. "Humans come. Taku not scared."

"Hoonuns?" I asked, unfurling myself from the branch and approaching his side, crawling down my tree trunk with sharp claws and blades. When I reached his standing point, I tugged at his tail so that he would pull me up.

"Yes, Taku. Humans come." He said, hoisting me by my waist so that I could sit up by his shoulders for a better view. From there, one arm slung around his neck, I could gaze out over the large clearing, a great slice through the wall of trees with the water of the stream glistening in the centre. Beside that stream ran a dirt road that led from the Yellowstone border up towards the mountains, passing directly through our territory. It meant nothing to me until that day.

From off in the distance, the cause of the disruption came into view: A large moving object, bright white in colour with the sun's rays bouncing from its smooth surfaces. The object followed the dirt track, which wound around the contours of the clearing and would eventually take it near to our tree. I could make out more objects within the white thing, but it was still too far away to see in great detail.

Father seemed conflicted, picking at the grooves of his tail blade. His eyes followed the foreign thing approaching while wrapping a hand over my back, holding me close.

"Taku need to meet Humans." He advised to himself. Then, to me, he said, "Taku want to see Humans?"

I stared blankly at him. It seemed to be enough of an answer.

He grinned wide. "Mago take Taku. See Humans."

Making sure I was clung tight enough around his neck, he quickly descended the tall tree, landing with a thud on the rough undergrowth. From there, he jogged at mid-pace out into the clearing, on course to intercept the white thing that roared ever closer, its inhabitants soon coming into my view. A number of heads bobbed up and down from the open top of the white beast, whose bizarre round feet pounded at the dirt road.

We were joined by a couple more of our people as the creatures in the white thing began to notice us. They raised multi-coloured arms and pointed with pale hands, chattered loudly amongst each other with voices of a softer, higher register.

I was curious yet cautious, and I clung tighter to Father, pressing my head closely to his chest and wrapping my tail around him just below the armpit. He vibrated his neck and chest with something not too dissimilar to a purr to pass on some comfort and security to me, and I gratefully kissed my head blades to him, keeping one eye alert to the goings-on around us.

The white thing rolled up, coming to a stop nearby on the dirt road. Its side was covered in a series of organised scribbles and an image that strangely resembled one of our people. Within it, the few creatures were moving and making noise, now more easily observed when up close. Their skin was unusual, with some areas pale, other parts crinkly and made up of a great variety of colour. They had fur on their round, flat-faced heads, much like a squirrel's fur yet with a much greater diversity of style, length and colour.

Father lifted my head and made light humming sounds in my ear that kept me calm in spite of the completely foreign situation I found myself in. The white beast ceased its low rumble, falling silent, but the noise of the creatures sat within continued, and with one eye focused on them I noticed they were all looking in our direction.

"These Humans, Taku." Father explained softly into my ear. "Human folk."

"Human." I whispered, my pronunciation probably a little off.

One of the Humans that sat furthest forward in the vehicle, the skin of its torso a dark green colour with small flaps around the neck, spoke to the rest of them. It held a small box to its mouth, attached to a bizarre curly, stretchy black branch.

"I told you we would find some eventually." It spoke, voice somehow amplified and distorted. "I think these guys have come to say hello!"

I felt vibrations, and looked up to see Father shaking his hand in a wave directed at the Humans. The two other people who had ventured with us from the trees were also waving. In the distance, I spotted another of our people dropping down from the trees and heading over.

"Okay, I think we can stop here for a while," The amplified Human said to the others. "Feel free say hello, take some photographs. I'm sure these guys would love to answer any questions you may have."

"Oh my God!" One of the Humans with longer head fur exclaimed. "That one has a baby."

The Human pointed in my direction, and the eyes of the others followed with an accompanying chorus of noises. I turned in Father's arms to get a better look at them, but clutched my tail tightly around his arm. The noises from the Humans only increased in volume.

Father remained stood in place while the other people around us moved towards the Humans. Most of them had now exited the white beast via a loose flap on one side.

They were stumpy, squat-looking creatures, walking up on two flat feet of varying colours. They didn't look very threatening, being considerably shorter than a lot of our people, and lacking any type of blade on their seemingly weak limbs. How did they possibly cut their bark? Coupled with that, they lacked any sort of tail from what I could see. How did they stay balanced?

Most noticeably, they were loud. Not loud in the same way as our people, whose volumes would be raised to high levels as we howled to each other through the trees. They were loud consistently, their presence bringing a constant, irritating buzz of high-pitched words spoken at a pace I had never thought possible. It was impossible to keep track of any one conversation when all of them were yapping at such speed.

Three of our people had engaged with the Humans, but they were not enough to hold them all back. About five Humans approached me and Father, chattering incoherently amongst themselves and lifting small coloured boxes in their hands.

Father held me securely, but he didn't seem too concerned. As he would tell me later on, this was something that he did quite a lot while off harvesting. He would wait nearby the dirt road for the Humans to arrive, who usually came a few times each day, and wander over to greet them. To him and perhaps the vast majority of our people, they were harmless creatures that made lots of funny mouth noises. Father enjoyed their company.

"Hello!" He greeted the small group that walked up to us. "My name is Mago Kelmut."

I noticed that one of the Humans was much shorter than the others, and stood just a little higher than I would have been had I been standing. It was somewhat cowering behind one of the taller Humans, clutched onto its small pale hand and gazing up at my Father.

"Look, Casey," The tall Human that held the smaller Human's hand said. "Say hello to Mago Kelmut."

The small one did not move from its spot, nor did it speak a word.

"Sorry," The taller Human said to my father. "She's a little shy."

"Shy." Father agreed with a nod.

Even at my young age, I could easily tell that the small Human was a lot more fearful than it was shy, even having just met the species. Their flat faces allowed them to be very expressive.

"Say hello, Casey." The tall Human urged. "They won't hurt you."

The Human named Casey held her hand over her mouth, considering the situation, before shuffling further backwards. "They're scary, Mommy!"

Mommy, the taller Human, chuckled nervously, looking up to my Father. "Sorry, she hasn't seen a real Hork-Bajir before. You don't look as big on the TV."

"Tee-vee?" Father asked, perplexed.

Another Human stepped forward, this one holding a black box fronted by a large cylinder. It spoke in a slightly deeper voice, "Mind if I take a few pictures?"

Father held me closer, but was agreeable, though he obviously had no idea what the process really entailed. The Human with the black box lifted it to its eye line and pressed on the top, a slight clicking noise occurring. This was repeated a few times, and some of the other Humans joined in.

Then, they wanted to get a little closer. Though the Human Casey remained petrified, Mommy approached us. "Do you mind if I we get a few pictures with you?"

Once again, Father had obviously been through this routine before, and didn't seem at all surprised when the Humans that didn't hold small clicking boxes came and stood beside him. One even placed a hand over his shoulder. He simply grinned, looking to those with the small boxes and freezing in position.

I gazed up at him quizzically. "Dada?"

Before Father could explain the scenario to me, I felt the watchful stares of the Humans now focusing on me, and as I turned my head I saw those small, strangely-coloured Human eyes just an arm's reach from me. I pulled closer to Father, anxious.

"I never thought we would see a baby one." The closest Human uttered. "Look, it already has those blades."

"How old is the baby?" Another asked Father.

"What is _baby_?" He replied.

The Human pointed a stumpy finger at me, causing me to blink. "That… uh… is it a boy or a girl?"

Father sighed and curled a hand around my head gently. "His name is Taku. Taku Kelmut."

"He's adorable!" A Human squawked, moving still closer to me and clicking its small box again in my direction. Father backed away slightly.

More and more of the Humans were coming over to me and my Father, leaving the others who had joined us to run off back to the safety of the trees. The Humans were somehow more drawn to me, and soon enough we were encircled. Even Father became a little concerned, though it seemed more for my own confidence and not for his.

The clicking of the small boxes was endless. I curled tightly into Father's arms and whined my dissatisfaction. However, the Humans were determined.

"Could we hold him?" One asked of my Father.

"Taku scared." Father explained. "Mago not think Taku like."

One or two of the smaller Humans groaned, except for the one called Casey. She had retreated back to the white beast with Mommy.

"Can I touch your blades?" Another bleated from our left.

"Why Human want to touch Mago blades?" Father queried, now becoming impatient at the Humans' constant requests.

After a while, as the Humans became more and more invasive, I began to sob, though that did nothing to deter them and even seemed to draw them closer. Even Father's incredible patience ran dry when one Human commented "I've read so much about the war. It's fascinating!" and he grunted loudly in disapproval. However, the Human whose voice was earlier amplified, who had generally stayed behind this whole time, seemed to notice our discomfort, and much to our relief it began to disband the others.

"Okay, I think we should move along now. We'll be late back, otherwise." It announced to a few discontented groans. "I think we should say thank you to Mago."

The smaller Humans chirped, "Thank you, Mago!" and waved their tiny hands before they and the taller Humans made their way back to the white thing. Father was quick to retreat back to the security of the trees.

We returned to our harvesting tree, and once there, Father sat on the sturdiest branch he could find with his back to the trunk, pulling me close to his chest. I had recovered from the incident enough to push away when it became uncomfortable, and Father let me sit back on his thigh.

He looked glum, ashamed of himself. "Mago sorry," He said, looking into my eyes. "Mago want Taku to meet Humans, but Taku too young."

I squeaked and babbled in a response to the words that I couldn't understand, and Father smiled.

"Taku see Humans again soon." He whispered. "Mago take Taku again when Taku is older."

We embraced, and then got back to work. Father busily harvested enough bark to feed the family for dinner and tomorrow's breakfast and I made a point of stabbing at random parts of the tree as practise, testing out the various blades that I owned.

That day was the first time I ever came into contact with the Human species, and it would not be the last. Even in just those few minutes, exposed to just that small number of individuals, I had already had a taste of the frighteningly complex Human nature. As I have since discovered, Humans are an extraordinarily diverse species, and though many of them have genuinely good intentions, there are those who are not quite so agreeable. I had experienced the vast difference in reactions to our presence on this world on that first day: the cowering child who could barely bring herself to look at us, to those who would see us as some main attraction in a petting zoo.

At first, I didn't understand why Father felt the need to apologise to me afterwards, but the reason would become clear soon enough, and even more vividly than he could have ever imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Summer was coming to an end. The days grew shorter as the nights became colder, and it wouldn't be long before I was to experience my first winter in Yellowstone park. The entire community was preparing for the bitter cold that would soon overthrow our home, stockpiling strip of wood to insulate nests and blankets supplied by charitable Humans. Father and my brother spent more and more time collecting bark for the family, as our bodies began to require greater amounts of nourishment to sustain us in the changing climate. Mother was often left behind to watch over me, still in need of constant supervision despite my rapid growth.

And it was not only size that I found myself increasing in. Mother and Father, who at first saw me as more of a doer than a thinker, were shocked that my intellect was developing at an alarming rate. Mother often joked that I was almost smarter than them already. It became less of a joke over time, and on occasion I would notice my parents both watching me as I played in the nest and the surrounding branches. It was not merely supervision, and the looks in their eyes were of intrigue.

Perhaps most baffling of all for them was when I successfully made a fully functional pulley system in the home tree. Father had spent the day pulling thin strips of vegetation from loose branches and fastening them together to reinforce our sleeping area. He showed me, very briefly, how to attach small strips together to form one long, tough rope. At one point, he ran out loose branches, and rushed off in search of some more. He returned to find that I was doing the job myself. Having explored the base of the tree and picking up several inadequate twigs, I placed them all in a makeshift basket and used the strips that he had made earlier to hoist them up into the tree, looping the strips over a higher branch to make the job easier. Father was convinced that someone else had created it, but Mother had witnessed the whole thing.

Thankfully, it didn't appear to worry them. It was barely a concern, and more of a curiosity.

Father and my brother were out collecting bark once again, leaving me behind with Mother. She had supervised me for a large chunk of the day. The others had left when the sun was at its highest point, and now it was closer to setting, slowly encroaching on the horizon of trees. For the entire time, Mother tolerated my higher level of activity, because though she was still young herself, I was at that particular age when energy seems infinite, as if I had just gorged on an entire bowl of maple sap, and she struggled to keep up.

"Mother!" I called to her. "Chase Taku! Chase Taku up tree!"

She was sat, wedged between two sturdier branches. "Chase Taku?" She repeated wearily.

"Yes! Chase Taku!" I urged, pulling myself up the central trunk.

Mother groaned and rubbed at her face. "No, Taku. Pok play with Taku all day. Want rest now."

In my hyperactive state, rest was a meaningless concept to me. "Not rest! Mother play with Taku! Chase Taku up tree!"

"No, Taku!" She snapped in frustration.

The tone of her voice brought me down from my bouncy condition, and I realised that this time she was serious. I dropped from the trunk onto the platform on which we lived and gazed at her glumly.

Mother seemed regretful at her outburst and sighed. "Maybe Taku want story instead?"

I shook my head, not in the mood for another story, especially so late in the afternoon.

Mother accepted that, but found a way to compromise. "Mago and Lenk back soon. Maybe Lenk play with Taku."

Disappointed, I pouted to her and slumped in place. It was meant to pull at her motherly side and bring out some sympathy, but all I got in return was the slightest hint of a snicker. She hadn't fallen for it, and so now I had no one to play with, at least until the rest of the family returned home.

Over the past few weeks, on some of my more casual journeys from the home tree, I had garnered some new acquaintances, and even new friends that were about my age. I thought about visiting them, but I recalled that Mother would have to supervise me to wherever they were. I could ask to see my grandparents, but that held the same problem.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long for company. The squirrel that frequented our tree had returned, gathering nuts and seeds, nibbling on them in the branches up above our heads. Grappling onto the central trunk of our tree, I crawled slowly towards it.

The squirrel was not too far away, just three awkward branches upwards and slightly to the left. I had never successfully approached it before, and I had no idea what I would do when I finally achieved my goal, but at the time it was a little mission I could undertake while I waited.

It noticed me after I passed the first branch (though it had likely seen me earlier, only now caring about my presence). Its hairy little nose twitched, as did the long bushy tail, and yet it remained stationary, clutching a tiny nut in its even tinier claws.

"Hello, Squirrel." I whispered, still approaching without any sudden movements. Its response was understandably silent, but its body tensed up just noticeably, causing me to stop.

"Squirrel hungry." I noted, staring at the nut that it held. "Need food to be big and strong like Taku."

Once again, it elicited no reply. Mother had always told me that animals don't talk back, though I never understood why. Nevertheless, in my childish naivety I assumed that, at least on some level, it understood me.

As the situation became more comfortable again, and the squirrel had released its tension, I pulled myself further into the tree, eyes fixated on the small animal. Now I was just in arms reach.

I continued to speak to it, accompanied with small clicks that my parents used to calm me when I was stressed. "Squirrel say hello? Say hello to Taku."

Silence again, but the squirrel edged just a little closer. I smiled and lifted my arm slowly, reaching up to the squirrel's branch.

Suddenly, the tree was slammed, rocking the trunk and the branches enough to scare the squirrel into fleeing. I groaned heavily and slapped my tail against the tree in frustration. Looking down from my perch, I saw the source of the disturbance. Father and Lenk had returned.

Their reappearance was enough of a relief for me to forgive them for scaring away the squirrel, and I gracefully dropped down the trunk, using my claws to slow my descent. I came face to face with Father, several great slabs off bark hugged under his arms and a couple smaller ones locked in his snout. He grunted out a greeting as best he could, and I responded with a chuckle and an embrace around his torso.

Lenk was equally occupied with bark that had been stripped on their last harvest, and both he and Father began unloading the food into the hold that had been carefully carved out of the base of the tree. Once they had returned to the living platform, a few slabs with them for the family meal, Mother was immediate in asking Lenk the favour that she desired.

"Lenk," She started as they unlocked their head blades from a greeting kiss. "Taku want to play. Lenk play with Taku?"

Lenk nodded and looked down at me. "Taku make Mother tired again." He stated, judging the situation perfectly. "Lenk tired, too. Find bark all day. But Lenk play small game."

"Game!" I chirped, bouncing lightly on my feet. "What game?"

Lenk moved to stand before me, towering over me before he lowered and sat loosely cross-legged on the platform, his tail laid out stiffly behind to keep him balanced. I copied his posture, sitting down opposite to and facing him.

"What game?!" I repeated eagerly.

"Play Teach game." He smiled. "Taku go to school tree soon. Have to learn. Be smart like Lenk." With a finger, he tapped the side of his head.

"Teach game." I agreed. It was a game that we had played several times before, though it had been a while since the previous game.

Lenk considered for a moment. "Taku remember how count?" He asked.

How to count? I nodded a yes and smiled, pulling up the knowledge from my head and bracing myself for the game that was about to begin. Lenk raised a large hand before me, and unfurled a single digit.

"How many finger Lenk hold up?" My big brother pressed, shaking his hand slightly. "This one easy."

It certainly was, considering that he had just inadvertently told me the answer. "One." I said.

"Yes. One." Lenk replied approvingly. Then, turning his hand so that he could see clearly himself, he unfurled another digit, taking a short moment to make sure that even he knew how many fingers were held up. Once he was certain, he showed his hand back to me. "Little harder. Taku remember how many?"

"Two!" I chirped without any hesitation.

A little shocked by my rapid response, he checked his fingers again and smiled. "Taku is smart. Remember good." He commented, tapping the side of his head once again. "Now very hard one."

This time, he raised more than just the extra finger. Every digit on his right hand was raised. Again, he checked himself at first, taking longer this time and seeming to struggle, but once he was satisfied he lowered the hand to me. "Not think Taku get this one. Very hard."

I blinked, unsure of why he thought it was so hard. I counted each finger. One. Two. Three…

"Four!"

Lenk looked stunned. "Taku _very_ smart." He complimented. "Count faster than Lenk."

"Taku like counting." I explained, bouncing in place on the platform flooring. "Count branches in tree every day."

Having just reassured himself that he had the correct number of fingers, Lenk stared down to me quizzically. "Okay, Taku," He began. "Do one more count."

His tone sounded defeated, not quite giddy as it had been just moments before. Nevertheless, I was pleased that he would indulge me in one more go, and I leaned forward, ready for the challenge.

To my surprise, Lenk lifted both hands before, and in one movement raised each and every digit. The look in his eyes suggested that he expected me to fail, but I had been taught this number once before. It was, as had been explained to me by Father, the limit of Hork-Bajir counting. When we run out of fingers, we simply cannot count any higher without guidance.

That one time of being taught, now weeks ago, was enough. I didn't even have to count through the other numbers, and my reply was almost instantaneous. "Eight."

The change of expression on Lenk's face was almost comical, a look of confidence instantly draining to a look of bewilderment. He pulled his hands up close to his snout and quietly began counting to himself.

"Play new game!" I suggested, seeing how he had grown frustrated with the Teach game. "New game. Play."

Lenk was happy to be distracted, struggling endlessly to count to eight on his fingers. He shook his head and shuffled his position. "Okay, play new game. Easy game. Like Teach."

"What is game?"

"Game is Find." He informed. "Lenk say something. Taku find, hold. Lenk say if right."

The game sounded entertaining enough. "Taku want to play!" I hurried him.

"Okay." Lenk muttered, now surveying the surrounding area. "Find something…. Green, flat."

"That easy!" I shrieked confidently, already lunging for the nearest sturdy branch. My feet left wicker platform, and I balanced on a perch to reach up and pull a large leaf from up higher in the tree. I returned it to him promptly. "Taku find leaf!"

"Yes. Leaf is right." Lenk nodded, taking the leaf and laying it down before him. "Now Taku find something else. Find… something soft, white."

This challenge wasn't as easy, but it didn't take me much effort to spot a small donated blanket draped on a stump nearby. I bundled past Mother, who watched with great interest, and took the small climb up the trunk to reach the blanket, pulling it from its home and returning it to Lenk's side, beside the leaf. "Taku find blanket. Blanket is soft and white."

"Good. Blanket is right." Lenk said, reaching down and folding it much neater than I had.

"What Taku find now?" I questioned enthusiastically.

Lenk considered momentarily, resting a hand over his snout. In fairness to him, there wasn't much around to seek apart from leaves and blankets and twigs.

"Taku find…" He uttered, looking around the tree. "Find something that taste good."

Something that tasted good? I searched my memory and deciphered what exactly that meant.

Looking back now, I realise that maybe I misinterpreted him.

I reached forward towards Lenk, and wrapped my hand around the tongue that sat in his open mouth.

"Tongue taste good!" I stated proudly. I was certain that that was what he meant, but the shocked look on his face explained otherwise.

He shrieked inaudible words to me as I watched in confusion, still with a hold on his writhing tongue.

"Tongue not right?" I asked.

Lenk tried to shake his head without pulling on his tongue, just as I heard footsteps bound up behind me. A larger hand reached down and slapped lightly but sternly on my arm.

"Taku let go of Lenk tongue!" Mother demanded, and I did so without hesitation.

Lenk, reunited with his tongue, got up to his feet and played with his mouth to see if everything was functioning normally. Convinced that he was fine, he still felt the need to glare at me disapprovingly.

I backed away just a little bit when I noticed that Mother shared the look.

"Bad Taku!" She yelled. "Not hold people tongues!"

Unnerved by her tone, I lowered my head and tail, staring down at the tree platform. I never liked when Mother yelled at me, and at that moment it didn't occur to me what I had done that was so wrong. I thought it was part of the game.

However, Mother did not see it as a game, and she lectured me a while longer, with me staring at the ground and twiddling my toes the entire time. Lenk provided no comfort or explanation, just stood there rubbing at his tongue. Once Mother had had her say on the matter, her voice returned to her more welcoming tone, and she announced that we would eat. But I wasn't in the mood for my evening meal. I was in a bad mood, and I pulled myself away from the family, sat on a small bed that I had arranged from dried grass, and pouted with arms folded, trying to convince myself that I had done nothing wrong. I grunted angrily at Father when he came looking for me, and he decided that it was best to leave me to sulk.

The sounds of bark being crunched soon wafted through the air, accompanied by the sweet aromas that they delivered. My stomach growled rebelliously, but I was too stubborn to offer my presence. Instead, I left the home tree, crawling from the wicker platform and silently scuttling down the side of the tree onto the litter below. I was going for a walk to take my mind away from the injustice that had been done. With the sun still gifting light upon the land, I ran off in a direction that I had never explored before.

With our tree on the tip of a sort of peninsula, most directions I could take would lead to open land. Indeed, the way I strolled led to an area devoid of trees, but I was still on our people's land. I had to be careful to avoid being spotted by anyone who knew me, who would likely feel it necessary to return me home. I jogged on at a reasonable pace, making sure to keep in a straight line so that I did not lose my way. It was not as if I didn't plan to return.

On the way, I made sure to pick out certain landmarks, the first of which was a large pile of rocks compiled for reasons unknown. Soon afterwards, I came across a small stream, an offshoot of the main body of water that ran from the mountains nearby.

There was a third landmark, and that was where I stopped. Once I had left the stream far behind and found myself engulfed in another great wall of trees, I noticed that fewer of my people lived along there. A cline that followed the path that I took. By the time I reached a fence, there was nobody else around, save for the occasional crack of bark being sliced from off in the distance. No one lived there.

The fence, to my naïve child eyes, was a foreign and compelling feature. It stretched like a hedge of bushes to my left and right, but it was made of a peculiar substance, and held by planks of wood that had been expertly cut. It was not the fence, however, that caught my attention. What did catch my attention was what lay beyond it: A huge structure of a variety of colours and materials shot up from a dark, flat ground, stretching up over the trees around it, and spewing golden light from small openings in its sides, as if a second sun were trapped inside. In fact, the whole building shone like a beacon, the _actual_ sun's rays glistening off various surfaces.

Below the building sat a number of the odd white beasts that the Humans ventured into our home in. They were lined up on the dark flat ground, hustled to the side of the building, and accompanied by numerous other beasts, differing in colour and shape.

I heard voices. But they weren't the voices of my people. They were alien to me. Human voices.

I leant up against the cold fence and watched the enormous building as activity unfurled inside and outside of its walls. The light that shone from within would flicker on and off, but only in some openings, and occasionally I would see shapes moving around inside. Another white beast had since pulled up onto the hard ground, filled with a number of Humans who were slow to vacate. As expected, they were noisy and inquisitive, but I was far away enough not to attract their attention. Eventually, they disappeared into the building and took the noise with them.

My mind slowly changed its focus from the building to both the time of day and my family. The sun was close to setting, and I would have to return before night fell. I didn't want to get lost for the night, and I knew that my family would be concerned for my safety.

I began to consider that maybe I had been in the wrong. After all, I wouldn't like it if someone grabbed_ my_ tongue. Lenk had obviously meant something else.

Now, however, I was worried about the consequences of returning. Mother and Father would be panic-stricken to find that I had left the home tree unsupervised, and I had no doubt that they would make their feelings perfectly clear when I eventually showed up. But I had to go back, because I would have nowhere else to stay, especially when I was so small. I was practically helpless during the night.

My mind wandered again, searching for any possible way to soften the blow that my parents would verbally deliver. I could give them a sincere apology, tell them that I would never do it again. It might work.

I decided to leave the building behind. It would be better to explore it during the middle of the day and when I had my peers by my side, so for now I turned and began to bounce my way back through the trees.

Something stopped me as I lost sight of the building. As I ran, my left foot caught onto something that crinkled loudly, and clung tight to the claws on each toe. I nearly tripped as I tried to kick it off mid-run, so I came to a halt and lifted my leg to inspect what I had found. It was another foreign substance, extremely thin but not easily breakable. As I pulled it from my feet (with some difficulty) and played with it in my hands, it made that horrible crinkling sound again. On its side was a selection of colourful symbols that meant absolutely nothing to me.

What was on the inside was interesting, though. The light object had two open loops on top, and as I held them both in each hand, I noticed that the object was completely hollow. There was something inside of it. Another object like the one I held, but scrunched up and containing more objects within. I took it in one hand and dropped the first flimsy container.

It was a struggle to open the second container. I shook it in my hands and picked at bits that I thought would open it, but I couldn't get to the innards.

Thankfully, I was not bereft of tools to aid me. I looked up and saw a small tree ahead, with a small, sharp protrusion sticking up from the side. I walked over and pressed a flimsier part of the material against the sharp piece of tree. A hole was created in the material, and I was able to use both hands the tear at its surface.

Eventually, I made my way in, taking my time so that I would not break whatever was inside.

It was filled with nuts. A variety of them. Some spilled onto the ground as I opened its container, but most stayed inside.

Suddenly, instead of losing interest in the nuts, that provided me with nothing that beneficial, I stood back and looked at what I had just done. The nuts were hung up against the side of the tree, contained in the basket that used to be its enclosed container. It gave me an idea.

I returned to the home tree just as night was beginning to set in. The sun had vanished behind the horizon of trees but allowed a deep orange glow to remain that guided me back. From a distance I saw Mother and Father, pacing the local area over the undergrowth, calling my name. I sensed that Mother was close to tears.

I swallowed my pride and ran for them, ducking down from the trees and instead running over the damp leafy ground. Mother was the first to spot me, and she instantly opened her arms and smiled, a welcome that I was hoping to receive. Once united, I embraced her around her torso, and she moved her head down to connect our head blades.

"Where Taku go?" She asked beneath a sob.

Feeling guilty, and perhaps scared that she would chastise me whatever the answer, I remained silent on that particular matter, and replied instead with, "Sorry, Mother."

Father had noticed my return and strolled to Mother's side, grinning. "Mago say Taku come back. Taku explore. Hunt for bark." Then, to me, "Taku find good bark on hunt?"

Again, I felt the same stab of guilt, responding with a shy shake of the head. Father drooped, disappointed.

I looked up to see that Mother's relieved smile had vanished. She began to express her feelings, just as I expected.

"Taku not run away like that!" She ordered. "Pok and Mago worry. Scared! Think Taku get hurt!"

"Sorry, Mother." I repeated meekly.

To my surprise, that was the extent of my punishment. Mother calmed just as quickly as she had grown angry, and she hoisted me carefully over her shoulder. "Taku come to tree now." She sighed into my ear. "Must be hungry."

I certainly was hungry, but most of all, I was relieved that my parents seemed so forgiving, at least for now. I hadn't even given them their gift yet.

"Mother," I said, poking her shoulder. "Taku make something. Make to say sorry for leaving home tree."

By now she had ascended the tree up to the platform, where Lenk had seemingly been kept as a lookout, and she dropped me down beside the trunk. "Taku make something?" She asked, cocking her head down at me.

I nodded and lifted my left hand, in which sat a small contraption that I had crafted on the return journey home.

The container full of nuts had inspired me. I had recalled the squirrel in our tree, how it searched daily for nuts to keep it nourished. I thought that maybe the way to get closer to it, to bring it to our tree more often, was to appeal to its hunger. While walking back, I found myself some branches and sliced them up to form long, tough pieces of string, and I used skills that Father had taught me, added with a little extra knowledge I had gained independently, to construct a small, sturdy box with a hole in the side, large enough for a squirrel to pass in and out. Inside, I had left the nuts that I had found outside of the Human building.

The three members of my immediate family gazed curiously at my squirrel box, silent for a while, and then all at once inquisitive.

"What that?" Lenk asked, among similar questions from Mother and Father.

I smiled, pleased with my own handiwork. "Taku make box for squirrel. Make squirrel come to tree."

Father appeared baffled. "How box make squirrel come to tree?"

"Taku find nuts." I explained. "Put nuts in box. Squirrel come to eat nuts."

To demonstrate, I lifted myself up the trunk of the tree with the contraption in my spare hand. Taking the squirrel's preference for higher branches into consideration, I had attached a small hook onto the back of the box so that I could secure it higher up the tree. I found an appropriate nook in the side of the trunk, and placed the box over it. As I thought, the box's attachment held it firmly in place. Once I was happy with its placement, I retreated back down to the platform.

There was a small period where the four of us simply stared upwards at the small box. It began to dawn on me that the squirrels had all retired for the night, because I only ever noticed them during daylight hours.

But apparently, one squirrel was still awake, still searching for nuts for as long as the sun would allow. It hesitated as it entered our tree, perhaps wary of our presence, perhaps catching the scent of all the nuts that I had placed.

It turned out that my squirrel box worked. After that momentary pause, the squirrel caught onto the alluring scents, jumped straight for the box and dived inside.

I was too busy admiring my creation, initially, to realise that my family had all begun staring down at me instead. It shocked me a little when I turned around.

"Taku make box?" Father asked.

"Yes, Father." I beamed. "Taku make box for Mother, Father and big brother."

Father looked intrigued, his eyes full of puzzlement, yet at the same time I saw a distinct sign of hope. For what, exactly, I wasn't sure.

He turned to Mother. "Taku is different."

"Yes. Taku is different." Mother agreed, gaze still stapled on me.

Lenk, meanwhile, seemed a little lost from it all. "Why Taku different, Mother? Father?"

Father smiled. "Mago not know, but know somebody who know. Take Taku tomorrow. Take Taku to see Toby Hamee."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I had no idea what had gotten my parents so worked up. The next day, as soon as the sun had broken its way back into the distant sky, they were up on their feet, talking, feeding, running around trying to get something organised, and nothing of the activities for a daily bark harvest. They had something else in mind, and it brought both a smile to their faces and a desperate urgency simultaneously. And I seemed to be the centre of it all.

"But Mago say take to Toby Hamee." Mother said to him, midway through another brief conversation. I was clutched to her side, a little panicked as to the pace at which everything was going.

Father was stood before us, a half-eaten slab of bark clutched in his right hand. "Yes. But Mago not know where Toby Hamee tree."

By now, they had been up for quite some time, and the Sun was fast rising through the sky, approaching its autumn peak. In their haste they had woken both me and Lenk, and though I was too small to find my own entertainment elsewhere, Lenk had grown bored and ventured off to find his peers.

I had no idea what was happening, so in my determination to receive an answer, I spent most of the time holding onto and prodding Mother impatiently, but nothing she said made any sense.

"Mother," I spoke up, leaning into her. "What happening?"

She turned her head down to me. "Mago need find Toby Hamee for Taku. Toby Hamee need to see Taku. But Mago not know where Toby Hamee."

"Not know where Toby Hamee." Father agreed.

Unsatisfied with the answer, I grunted disapprovingly at them. No answer they gave me made anything clearer, and the repetition of this strange person's name was beginning to confuse me.

Eventually, Father left the home tree, saying that he would find this _Toby Hamee_ person and bring them back here. This made me nervous, because it was plainly obvious that this whole issue, and the arrival of the new guest to our home was all something to do with me. Mother was left behind to keep watch over me, and though she was disappointed to be once again stuck waiting at home, her mind was kept occupied by talking almost incessantly. She had a lot on her mind, it seemed. She was sat on her favourite perch, and I was beside her, kicking my feet over the side of my branch.

After a few long and essentially meaningless conversations, I brought up the question that had burned in my head for the entire day. "Mother," I began, "Who Toby Hamee?"

She gazed at me as if it should have been common knowledge. "Pok think Taku hear story before when smaller. Story of Toby Hamee."

I shook my head. That was one of the few things that I didn't remember. I was most likely asleep at the time, which is not unusual when story nights go on till the moon begins its slow descent.

"What Toby Hamee do?" I asked Mother.

She smiled warmly. "Toby Hamee save Hork-Bajir. Make Hork-Bajir free. If no Toby Hamee, no Taku. No Pok. No Mago. No Lenk."

This intrigued me greatly, and I crawled forward so that I was almost stood on top of her. "Mother tell Taku story of Toby Hamee now?"

Mother paused and looked away briefly, eyes wandering as if she were deep in thought.

"Pok not know story well. And think maybe story too scary for Taku. Scare Pok. Even scare Mago."

"Scary story?" I pressed curiously, bouncing up and down with my tail holding onto the branch behind me. "Taku not scared."

Mother smiled, possibly amused by my fearless and naïve attitude. "Pok not tell story. Pok think maybe Toby Hamee tell story to Taku when Toby Hamee get here."

I backed away from Mother so that I no longer leaned over her, and sat back down on my own branch, growing ever more impatient as time went on. Mother and Father had talked about this Hork-Bajir with such appraisal that she was bound to be something so extraordinary. I grew tense and excited, almost shaking in place. I continued to question Mother, but her answers remained confusing and unclear. She said that Toby Hamee was different. She talked of Toby Hamee's parents, and she repeated mentions of strange creatures that I had not previously heard of.

But there was something other than joy in her voice. There was also a hint of worry in her, something that she hid so well, but not well enough for my ears to miss.

We eventually decided that Father would be absent for longer than initially expected, and so during the peak of daytime, Mother kept me entertained by taking me to a nearby stream, where we filled donated containers to bring back to the tree. We drank heartily from it and bathed further downstream. Mother insisted that I be especially well-kept today.

When we returned, Father was still not present, but Lenk had come back from the hot springs where he spent most of his social time. Mother was stunned when he asked her why she was in such a rush to get the tree looking nice, and she was disappointed that he too had not heard of the apparently oft-told story. He and I sat to watch as Mother panicked over the cleanliness of the tree platform, and after a while we resorted to playing yet another time-wasting game, making sure to stay out of her way for its duration.

"Why Mother so worry?" Lenk asked mid-way through another game of Find. Even he was now sensing her anxiety.

I shrugged, handing him the half-eaten leaf that he had asked for. "Mother say Toby Hamee save Hork-Bajir."

Lenk looked flummoxed, almost unbelieving. "Save Hork-Bajir from what?"

"Taku not know."

He smiled slyly. "Save Hork-Bajir from bark stew Father make."

We exchanged a laugh. Father was never known for the concoctions he brewed for special campfire nights.

Just then, Mother came bounding over to our side of the platform, bobbing nervously on her feet. "Lenk. Taku. Ready?"

"Ready, Mother?" Lenk asked, slowly standing up. It seemed as though our game was finished.

Mother smiled. "Toby Hamee nearly here."

Lenk finally appeared to lose patience, grunting irritably at her. "Mother not say to Lenk why so important. Mother run around too much. Mother need rest."

She shook her head from side to side. "No rest now." Then she looked down to me, an almost expectant look on her face. Offering her hand to me, she said, "Taku, come with Mama."

I brushed past Lenk and took her open hand, not quite sure why she wanted me close. On the way past, I caught a glance from Lenk. I didn't see long enough to decipher his expression, but it wasn't a positive one.

Mother guided me to the other side of the tree, and there she stood, watching expectantly for Father to return. I noticed her smiling when his familiar figure came hurtling towards us from a distance, and she had been right in saying that it wouldn't be long for his (and the stranger's) arrival.

He swung fastidiously through thickets and over branches, landing daintily before us with a proud grin on his face before shaking off stray leaves that had landed on his body. "Mago back!" He announced.

"Yes. Mago back." Mother observed, but she craned her neck to look over his shoulder. "Where Toby Hamee?"

"Toby come." Father nodded, turning and pointing an arm out in the direction of newly emerging noise. Just coming into sight was another Hork-Bajir. Female, a little over average height. She was casually jogging through the trees, bundling over thickets and dodging out-thrusting stumps, a slab of bark held in one hand while the other guided her between the tree trunks.

She landed on our platform, steadying herself against the trunk and observing her immediate surroundings.

I don't quite know what my mind imagined I would see. The constant appraisal of her name by my parents seemed to instil an image of something purely amazing, someone that would cause my jaw to drop in disbelief. Someone who, on first sight, would instantly give an off an aura of uniqueness and bravado.

But she seemed just normal. Nothing special. If anything, she looked weary, worn down and dishevelled. She was considerably older than my parents. Not elderly, but her blades had begun to dull in colour and her eyes sagged tiredly.

Then again, I didn't know her yet. She hadn't even spoken a word.

"Toby Hamee here." Mother said, a big grin on her face.

Toby turned and picked some leaves from her wrist blades, remaining silent for now, but taking the bark that she held and offering it to Mother with a warm smile and a greeting kiss.

"Toby come. Pok _fallana_." Mother continued.

The strange new Hork-Bajir nodded. "Your _kalashu_ travelled far to reach me, Pok. I understand that you wish to show me something."

I noticed something peculiar. Toby Hamee's speech seemed different. Quicker and smoother in flow than what I was used to. Perhaps there was nothing physically special about her, but there was something different elsewhere. I began to listen more intently, watching her closely. As of yet, she hadn't paid much attention to me.

"Yes," Mother said. "Want show Taku Kelmut to Toby."

Mother stood aside and allowed me to move into focus. I moved close to her side, yet forward enough for Toby to get a full view of me. She looked down to me, and with a friendly smile she lowered herself so that she could offer a greeting. I readily craned my neck to accept the kiss.

"Hello, Taku Kelmut." Toby said, releasing the kiss but still keeping herself lowered so that I did not have to stare upwards to her.

"Hello." I returned, still trying to figure out why this person sounded so unusual.

Toby moved backwards slightly, adjusting on her bent legs. Her eyes locked on mine for a while, and even they seemed different, intensely focused and wise beyond any I had seen before. They made me nervous, and I reached up a hand to find Mother's own, that clutched onto mine.

Toby finally averted her gaze, and stood up tall to continue conversing with my parents. "Has Taku been to the local school tree yet?"

"No." Father answered. "Mago think Taku go to school tree after three moons pass."

"Taku smart. Smarter than Mago. Smarter than Pok." Mother explained.

It was not something that I had heard them say before, and it shocked me completely. But despite my parent's assuredness, Toby seemed doubtful, and I found her stare once again piercing into me.

"You think he is _different_?" She asked them. Then, for clarity, "Like myself?"

Mother and Father both nodded.

"What makes you think that he is _different_?"

For a second, my parents blanked, and then looked to each other in puzzlement. Obviously, they hadn't quite thought this through. Toby, seeing that my parents would struggle to explain, turned her focus back to me. She held out a hand in my direction and invited me to take it.

"Taku," She started as I took her hand. "Could you please show me around your home?"

I hesitated, at first looking to Toby and then to my parents to receive permission. When I saw that they gave their approval, I looked around for the best way to introduce the visitor to our tree.

Leaving my parents behind to go over whatever they needed to discuss, I first dragged Toby to the other side of the tree where I expected to find Lenk. He had disappeared, probably having gone off to find his friends again, but left behind the various items collected during our latest games in the centre of the platform.

"This where Taku play." I told Toby, grabbing a spare blanket and swinging it over my head. "Play with big brother, but he not here."

Toby acknowledged. "What games do you play, Taku?"

"Play Find. Play Teach. Play Sleep."

"What is Sleep?"

"Sleep. Big brother say, "Play game. Play sleep. Taku win if sleep long time"." I explained.

"Ah. I see."

I threw down the blanket and jumped onto the trunk of the tree, lifting myself up to the small squirrel box that I had created the night before. After making sure that no squirrels were inside, I gently removed it from its hanging position and withdrew it down the tree. Hanging with one hand one a thin but sturdy branch so that my eyes were level with hers, I handed Toby the box.

"Taku make for squirrels." I said.

Toby carefully took the box in both hands and inspected the handiwork. I was disheartened when her expression showed nothing more than slight interest.

"It is very nice." She complimented. "And it is good of you to embrace the wildlife that we share our homes with."

She handed the box back to me. I was confused, puzzled as to how her reaction was so different than my family's. They were stunned by my box, but Toby was barely interested at all. Hiding my disappointment, I returned the box to its hook and jumped back to the platform.

I continued to guide her up and down our home tree, even taking her away from home and showing her the local area. However, nothing seemed to be of great interest to her. She put on a façade of intrigue, but I could just as easily tell that she was not here for sightseeing.

There was something else to her as well. Her body appeared strong, proud and experienced, but whenever I caught her gazing at me, in the small moments that our eyes remained in contact, I noticed fear. A strange kind of guilt that she was hiding. She didn't want me to see it.

But I saw it all too well.

I began to wonder what her real purpose was. Obviously, she had taken the time to travel a considerable distance to our home at the whim of my Father who, in all honesty, has never been much of a speaker.

My initial thoughts of Toby were vanishing, once seeing her as just a well-spoken middle-aged female, now seeing something else entirely. My mind buzzed, going over every possibility as my eyes kept watch on her.

Funnily enough, she seemed to be doing the same to me. So often we would find each other staring, pondering, and trying to figure something out.

On one of our short trips away from the home tree, somewhere nearby the river where a few locals had gathered, Toby sat down in the canopy of a tall conifer and tore off a few slabs of bark, offering me some as I joined her.

"You have a lovely home." She said as I sat down opposite to her. "I do not often come this way, but I always enjoy when I do so."

Though she had talked a great amount since we first met, I still struggled to grasps some things that she said. Her voice was fast, flowing, and it seemed to me that she did it deliberately as soon as we had left my parents.

"Toby say fast." I pointed out, after so long trying not to.

She nodded, swallowing what bark she had in her mouth. "Yes. I speak fast." She acknowledged.

"Why?"

Toby paused and dropped her slab of bark to rest between two diverging branches beside her. "Taku, have your parents talked much about me?"

I searched my memory. "Say, "Toby Hamee come". Say, "Toby Hamee save Hork-Bajir"."

"And that is all that they have told you?"

I nodded. "Yes."

She sighed and picked up her food again, gazing over it and dragging a claw down an indentation in the bark surface. "Do you know why your parents called on me to come?"

"Taku not…" I started, before stopping myself and putting a hand over my snout. I was about to say that I didn't know, but something within me had been putting the pieces together this whole time, and only now did I begin to see what was going on. "Toby Hamee come to see Taku."

Toby smiled approvingly, crunching down on her food.

I continued. "Toby Hamee come long way to see Taku. Mother and Father tell Taku yesterday: "Taku is _different"_. Say because Taku make squirrel box. Say because Taku count good."

She continued to watch intently. She wanted more.

I was happy to supply her with my guesses. "Toby not think box _different_. Not think count _different_. Any Hork-Bajir do that. Taku only _remember_ good. Maybe Toby…" I hesitated.

She stopped chewing and lifted herself forward to sit up straight, alert to my sudden pause, but remained silent for me to finish my thought process.

"Toby come to see if Taku _different_. _Different_ like Toby. Taku not _different_ because count or make box. Taku _different_ because Taku _see_ different.

Her eyes widened, and she gulped down what remained of the bark. "Go on."

"Taku see Toby," I continued. "But not just see Hork-Bajir. Taku see that Toby scared. Toby worry."

Now Toby was the one to appear bemused. "What do you mean, Taku?"

"Toby scared that Taku is _different_." I spoke, revealing what I had kept hidden in my throat since we had been introduced. I had seen more than just her outward emotions, but I had also seen her on the metaphorical inside whenever I caught her glance.

She knew that I was different, and, for some reason, she was concerned.

Toby was silent, and she stared at me with narrow, calculating eyes. I felt the disguise drop, and from it came the look of worry that I knew was there.

But with it came something that perhaps I had missed. She was relieved.

"So it's true." She mused. "And here I was, thinking that I would never see it again in my lifetime."

I shook my head, feeling a little dizzied. I didn't quite know what to say, and for a while there was an awkward silence.

"So what mean?" I asked of her, her own sense of worry discomforting me.

"It means lots of things," She said. "Most of which you will learn soon. For now, it means very little. But, Taku, it means that you and I will need to spend a little more time together."

"Toby come back to Taku tree again?" I guessed.

"Not quite."

We returned home a little while later. Toby went over a few issues that I had, mostly just questions about what being _different_ actually meant. She explained, and I listened diligently.

I was a seer. An anomaly. The details as to why I was a seer were still a bit much for me to understand, but Toby assured me that I would know soon enough.

There was a lot that I didn't understand at that moment, and challenges that I did not know I would have to face. I was naïve, ignorant of what it all meant, how it would affect myself and those around me. That was something that Toby was yet to reveal, and now I realise that that was probably for the best. The true reality of my deformity, had I known from the start, would have scared me into remaining silent, pretending to be just another simple, innocent Hork-Bajir.

I may have been a seer, but at such a tender age I still had so much to learn.

Mother and Father had waited patiently in the tree for us to return, and before they noticed our arrival, I saw concern in them. Not the same as it was in Toby, but concern nonetheless.

Mother was quick to embrace me, bringing her head down to connect our head blades. "Taku back." She whispered.

I smiled up at her as she stood straight again. "Sorry Taku take long."

Toby shifted forward, standing tall and proud before them. "Mago? Pok?" She began. "You were right."

Father nodded, a smile creeping its way onto his face. "Taku is _different_, like Toby Hamee?"

"Yes," She replied, barely holding back a smile of her own. "He is like me."

"So…" Mother grunted. "What happen now?" She, unlike my Father, looked more unnerved than joyful.

Toby's smile dropped, and a more regretful expression took its place. "Taku will need an education different from the other _kawatnoj_. With your permission, I would like to teach him personally."

"Toby Hamee want to come back to tree again? Teach Taku?"

She shook her head. "No. Taku will need to come to my tree. If it's okay, I would like him to be there tomorrow."

Both of my parents looked saddened, but they gave their permission without pause.

"How long Taku at Toby Hamee tree?" Father asked.

"Daily." Toby answered immediately. "I have a lot to teach him. But don't worry, I will make sure that he is home every day. Despite the distance between our homes, I cannot bring myself to keep Taku away from you. Though I would love to be able to teach him in his own home, I have duties to watch over which requires me to be at my own tree."

I noticed Mother turning towards me, lowering her arms and inviting me over. I waddled to her and she lifted me up in her arms so that I sat, leaning against her shoulder.

"Taku want learn from Toby Hamee?" She asked me, her snout almost pressed to mine. I nodded.

Toby shifted, once again reigning in my parent's attention. "Please, though, don't stop Taku visiting the school tree. Though he may not need the education, I cannot stress enough the importance of having peers his own age."

"Still take Taku to school." Mother confirmed, her warm breath curling around my neck.

"Thank you." Toby grinned, turning and making her way to the edge of our home. "And thank you, Taku. I shall be back tomorrow morning."

With that, my new teacher left.

That night, I didn't sleep. From nowhere, this revelation had popped its head up and fuelled my imagination to bursting point, and as my mind began to churn faster and more vividly, I found myself unable to sit still, unable to let it all rest. I laid down in my nest once my parents had stopped fussing over me for the night, and though I was able to nap briefly, I found myself pacing our tree platform, wondering and questioning.

Toby Hamee had awoken something deep inside me. My entire perception was changing, and for now those perceptions were positive, something to be proud of, thankful for. But then I remembered the look in her eyes when she revealed it all to me. The look of concern and guilt.

I suppose that nothing is what it seems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I didn't sleep a wink. My mind simply wouldn't let me, and it buzzed for as long as the moon hung in the Earth sky, wondering, questioning. Tomorrow was going to be something special, something much different from my usual routine, but somehow I knew that it would be equally daunting, the beginning of something that I may later come to regret. The origin of those thoughts itself was a curiosity, and much of the time was spent wondering where they came from. The pace at which my brain was churning eliminated any possibility of sleep, and Mother eventually snapped after my spending so long just wandering around our home, and she told me to get some sleep.

Morning eventually came, and the trees around us began to flicker with the beginning of our people's daily chores. Father had rushed off to do his own little duties, and Lenk had gone to the school tree with his peers, so Mother waited with me for Toby Hamee to arrive.

She did so, earlier than expected, and I instantly suspected her eagerness. She kissed Mother and assured her that I would be taken care of, and that I would be returned before sunset. To a Hork-Bajir, that is a long wait, and Mother held back a whine but was ultimately agreeable. She held me close, told me to stay out of trouble, and we were on our way.

The journey to Toby's home was lengthy, much further than I expected. It was amazing to see how far our people's home spread, when just that morning the world consisted of just a few square miles. We sprinted past great mazes of trees, bounded over endless open grasslands and scuttled through hot springs, always maintaining a steady pace. When we tired (which, more often than not, was just me), we took a few moments to catch our breath, find some bark to feed on, meet a few of the locals.

I no longer recognised anyone as we made our way further from home. No one recognised me either, but they greeted me just as kindly nonetheless. Toby, however, seemed well-known wherever we went, and I began to feel a little intimidated by her apparent influence on most that she passed. She did her best to avoid getting stopped, but sometimes she simply couldn't escape, and she would spend some time chattering meaningless conversations with faces that she knew well and some that she didn't.

Eventually, we arrived in Toby's local area, plainly distinguished from the other localities we had passed by the number of inhabitants. I had never seen so many of our people in one place. There was never a moment when no Hork-Bajir invaded my field of vision, and many were wandering the clearing in which we arrived, transporting bark or conversing with neighbours. Toby informed me that this was the first place that our people had come to when they moved to Yellowstone, so a great number made their homes here. I simply asked, "What Toby mean when say Hork-Bajir move to Yellowstone?" She said that she would tell me later.

Once she had passed by her neighbours, Toby led me up her home tree, one that stood in the centre of the clearing, taller than those surrounding it, and made up of several spruce trees tied together, a platform built sturdily between them. From the canopy, she could see for miles, as I found out when my explorative instinct led me up there.

Not only was the tree fascinating in its structure and location, but its contents also piqued my curiosity. A number of small white boxes were sat in one corner, and within them were piles of strange leaves covered in black scribbles, like someone had scraped a muddy claw on them, but with exquisite and organised detail. A few more stray boxes were lying around, and there was also a whole host of unusual and foreign objects compiled by one of the tree trunks, guarded from more extreme weather by an expertly crafted shelter.

Toby Hamee's home was impressive, to say the least.

I couldn't spot anybody else in the tree, and at first I thought that she might have been living in there on her own, but I then noticed a nest large enough to comfortably fit a whole family on one side of the platform, wide enough for several people to huddle for warmth in sleep. Perhaps her family were out doing their daily routines elsewhere.

Toby had made herself comfortable, wedged in a nook in one of the trees. "Make yourself at home, Taku. I have some water from the hot springs if you wish to have some."

I nodded, still amazed by her beautiful home. Toby reached to her side and retrieved a large translucent cylinder filled most of the way with water, twisted the top away and handed it over to me. I took a greedy gulp, spilling a large portion down the sides of my mouth.

"Thank you, Toby Hamee." I said once I had moved the water away from my mouth. She took the water and drank some herself.

"Taku like Toby Hamee tree." I started, sitting down in front of her on a cushy mound of dried grass. "Big. Make Taku feel… good."

"I'm glad you like it." She replied nonchalantly, hand now reaching down beneath the nook for something else. Apparently, she had another storage space just beneath the platform.

I crawled closer, trying to peek at what she was rummaging for. "What Toby do?"

She smiled down at me, though her right hand still searched. "I am trying to find something that will help you to learn to read."

"What is read?" I asked.

"A way of communicating, without speaking. I will also teach you to write. And to speak English in a way that will be more suitable when conversing with Humans."

I stared blankly at her. Nothing that she had just said made any sense to me, and she quickly realised that, slumping back and rubbing her chin with her free hand, trying to find another way to explain.

She caught an idea, getting up from her nook to walk over to the area of the platform where the small white boxes were sat. I followed her closely and watched as she bent down to pull out one of the white leaves with scribbles on one side.

"Here," She said, handing me the white leaf and then pointing to the scribbles. "I will teach you to understand that."

I gulped, now able to inspect the white leaf more closely. The black squiggles were tiny and complicated, formed with curls and spots and strung out in long lines that stretched from left to right over the surface. Those lines were themselves arranged into large blocks, of which I counted five on the single leaf. I shook my head.

"Taku not know what leaf say." I whined, shaking the piece of paper as if doing so would somehow reveal something yet undiscovered that would aid in my understanding.

"It appears daunting, yes." Toby mused, once again sitting down in front of me, now flat on the platform. "It was just as daunting to me when I first learned to read."

I paused to think for a moment, now sitting down before her. "Toby Hamee know white leaf?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded. "Yes. And you will someday, too. Soon, if my own experience is anything to go by."

I didn't feel at all assured, especially when I gazed once again at the terrifyingly complicated series of scribbles that I had been introduced to. "What white leaf say, Toby Hamee?"

She hesitated, but then shrugged and took the paper, raising it before her snout. "It reads: Dear Ms Hamee. We write to inform you that your reservation at the Four Seasons Hotel, Washington D.C., has been approved, commencing on December fourteenth and terminating on December twenty-eighth. You shall be residing in room 130 for this duration, with access to all hotel facilities and-"

I covered my ears and rolled out my tongue, causing Toby to stop her reading. She chuckled knowingly, and placed the white leaf back in its box. "That was a letter. It is what the Humans and I use to communicate with each other. Letters are written on paper. White leaves."

I squinted at her, still not quite getting it and growing more and more agitated, but I reached into another box that was closest to me and lifted out a second white leaf. "Pay-per?"

Toby froze and stuttered silently. Then, she reached forward and gently pried my hands off of the paper. "Yes, paper. However, a lot of this paper is very… important. Work that I must ensure is done. Please, ask me before you touch any." She placed that particular box away in a small storage shelter, and then brought another box out. This one was red and filled with paper that had been scrunched up or torn. "Here, you can play with these sheets of paper. They are not needed."

Intrigued, I pulled out a small piece of paper from the red box and investigated. This one had fewer words on it, and they were bigger. However, they were a lot messier, the lines not as straight and the style not as consistent. I flattened out the corners and decided to keep that piece for myself. My family may have appreciated me bringing it back to them as a gift, because though its smell told me that in was inedible, I was sure that they would find some entertainment in its simultaneous simplicity and complexity.

Nonetheless, I still understood nothing of it, and my young mind saw this initial lack of knowledge as defeat. "Toby Hamee," I began meekly. "Taku not read. Why Toby want Taku read?"

Before I had asked, she had made her way back to her nook to restart her search for the mystery object below the platform. She used her blades to hook onto the trunk, and lowered her upper body over the edge of the platform. "Because, though you may not be able to read now, it will not take you long to learn."

I narrowed my eyes, yet again unsure of what she was implying. That reply did not answer my question, and so I continued to press, though talking to her lower body, that hung upside-down over the platform edge, was a little off-putting. "But why make Taku read?"

Finally, Toby found what she had been looking for, and rotated so that she could walk upright, back onto the platform. In her hands, she held a large boxy object, displaying numerous shapes and colours that were arranged in long horizontal lines.

"Because, unlike the rest of our people, you can."

"Because Taku different?" I asked.

"Yes. Being a _seer_ means that your mind can remain better focused." She explained, sitting down before me with the object in her lap. My eyes wandered to it as she continued, "You are a _seer_ not only because of your more defining world perception, but also for your intellect. Though it takes that particular side a little longer to develop, it means that your intelligence is not faltered by our limiting biology."

I stared at her blankly, and she sighed apologetically.

"Please, trust me. You will begin to understand." She said, hoisting the colourful object between us on the platform. The body was white with a blue base, but a series of protruding orange knobs spring from the centre in three long lines. On those knobs were more small scribbles, but they were larger and brightly coloured. More distinguishable. The whole object shone, light rays reflecting off its surface. Not too bright, but enough to further engulf my attention.

"What that, Toby Hamee?" I asked, still gawking at its vast array of colours and shapes.

"This is something that I borrowed from a Human friend." She said with a smile. "This is how I am going to teach you how to read."

I blinked, a little surprised at how a single, inanimate object would be able to teach me anything. Nevertheless, I reached forward with a tentative claw, pressing it against one of the strange orange knobs, and-

_G_, it screeched in a hideous, high-pitched vocal tone, _This is the letter G_.

Perhaps this box was not inanimate after all! I grunted to express my ambivalence towards the object and pulled it a little closer. I pressed another orange knob.

_B. This is the letter B_.

I laughed heartily, and already I found myself fully enthralled by the baffling and marvellous… _thing_! I pressed more and more orange knobs, and the thing continued to emit its confusing but repetitive statements.

Then, completely by accident, I nudged another small knob, but this one was off at one side, away from the orange ones, and instead of describing so-called letters, it began to make a most peculiar set of noises, followed by another voice and some jangly, metallic tune.

_Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O…_

I covered my ears with both hands. The simple vocal sounds that the orange knobs had spoken were bad enough, but this was terrible. I screeched at the box to make it stop, but only when Toby messed with another knob, hidden on the underside, did it stop.

Uncovering my ears, I asked, "This help Taku read?"

She nodded, and pointed to the first orange knob of the second horizontal line on the box. "These are each called letters. These make sounds." Lifting the box again, she flicked the hidden knob again, and the object sprang to life once more. "It will also help you count. Has your family taught you to count?"

I grinned and nodded proudly. "Taku count good! Taku know all numbers!"

With a claw that was just a little too large, Toby pressed one of the knobs that occupied the highest horizontal line, the furthest to the left.

_One. This is the number one._

I smiled, recalling that one was a word I knew well, and one that I could apply meaning to. I lifted a single digit into the air. "One." I repeated.

Toby moved her finger to the next knob on the right and pressed it.

_Two. This is the number two._

Again, I raised the correct number of digits into the air. Now, however, I stopped my childish giddiness and laughing, putting aside my excitement of the fascinating object and now tried to seriously search for a pattern. Before, the numbers one and two were merely spoken values, sometimes symbolised with my fingers, though that was merely just to aid in remembering them. Now, one and two were not just spoken sounds, but pictures. The knob that produced one was illustrated with a straight, vertical line, whereas two was a large curve, ending in a horizontal straight line beneath.

I tried to reinforce the idea by pointing it out to Toby, and her response was positive. Already, I had figured out the pattern, and I moved further along the line of knobs, to one whose illustration consisted of two smaller curves that were joined at the middle.

"Three." I guessed, pointing at the knob and then accompanying the guess with a display of fingers.

I pressed the knob, and to my satisfaction, the machine agreed. I moved my fingers further along, correctly guessing each number before validating it by pressing the knobs. That is, until I came to eight.

_Eight. This is the number eight._

Suddenly, I found myself in a difficult situation. Eight was not the end of the line, and indeed there was one more symbolised knob to go. The illustration showed something that looked much like the image for six, just upside-down. I flummoxed and placed my hand over my snout, contemplating.

Eventually, I realised that I couldn't figure it out. I glanced up to Toby, whose gaze had been fixated on me the whole time.

I saw that worry in her eyes again.

She nodded and forced a smile. "That one is unfamiliar. Not only to you."

I looked away, feeling strangely embarrassed, and I played with the tip of my tail nervously. "Taku no more fingers…"

"You thought that numbers only went up to eight." Toby summarised for me.

"Yes." I admitted, perhaps unjustly ashamed of myself. "Lenk always say that. Mother and Father say, too."

Toby reached forward and took my right hand that I had nervously withdrawn, and she guided it gently towards the new number. I held a claw over the number, and slowly pushed it down.

_Nine. This is the number nine._

I looked to Toby again for reassurance. She smiled down to me and repeated, "Nine. The number that comes after eight."

"Nine…" I mumbled under my breath. "But… Toby Hamee?"

"Yes, Taku?"

"What come after nine?"

I spent the rest of the day in Toby Hamee's tree, mostly learning, with aid from the various gadgets that she kept stored away under the platform. I learned to count to twenty, and quickly skimmed over the alphabet, something which I would continue with tomorrow. In between teaching sessions, Toby would take me away from the tree to feed or to visit local landmarks, perhaps to drink from the river or aid families harvesting bark, but all the while I would let my mind churn on, and I would often find myself instinctively counting, speaking letter pronunciations to myself, revising what I had been taught.

Toby had taken note of my progress, and she seemed impressed with the pace at which I was learning, but not too surprised. She told me vaguely about her own experiences, how she suddenly found herself soaking up each and every little bit of information that she could, despite having so little around her to aid in her learning. She had to do it almost independently, but I had her now to help me, and that meant that the pace at which my intellect grew was staggering, even within just that one day.

Despite my eagerness to show off my new counting abilities, Toby was stubborn in keeping it downplayed, to the point where she wouldn't even admit to those around her that I was a _seer_ like herself. Local people would see me counting happily to myself, and though I could see the clogs churning within their brains, the slightest hint that they understood what it meant, Toby denied that it had anything to do with being _different_. She would tell them that I was simply recalling, not actually appreciating the words that I spoke. They believed Toby, no matter what she said.

She was protecting me from something.

I still sensed an ambivalent stream of emotions from her whenever her eyes settled on me. Especially when I was learning. The concern was still there, wrapped in a subtle veil of relief, and I quickly came to accept the reason for this to be the same reason that she was so unwilling to announce my "gift" to her neighbours. It didn't matter, however, because members of her own family were swiftly able to spot it when they came back home, and I soon found myself the centre of their attention, and they cooed and clicked approvingly over me. Toby managed to pry us away to a more secluded area nearby the river, but I was glad of the extra company and sad to leave them behind.

But through all of it, I never got to know her. She was my teacher, and she did that job with all the enthusiasm I would have wanted her to show, but that was it. She was simply a voice. I would try to ask her about her life occasionally, about why our people considered her so influential, how she "saved" the Hork-Bajir, about why her tree was full of white leaves and strange foreign gadgets, but every time she would change the subject. She evaded any question that became too personal.

The sun was beginning to set, and we had just gone over the first half of the alphabet again when Toby decided that she was hungry. She sat herself comfortably against two thick branches and slumped, jabbing her wrist blade into the bark behind her head to pull away a slice. She handed me a piece, and I took it and sat by her side.

"Toby," I started as she bit into her slab. "Taku come back tomorrow?"

She gulped down the pulp in her mouth. "Of course, Taku. If you want to. I can pick you up from your tree at the same time."

"Thank you." I smiled, sitting up on my branch and casually swinging my legs. "Maybe when Taku come back tomorrow, Taku know _all_ alphabet. Remember good!"

She nodded to me and gave a smile of her own. "You have made good progress today. I am sure that you will be able to remember all twenty-six letters by this time tomorrow."

I paused to nibble at my bark, but my gaze fell static on my feet, and I couldn't help but bring up my concerns, having hidden them all day. "Toby?"

"Yes, Taku?" She replied through a snout-full of bark.

I took a deep, steady breath. "What Toby hide from Taku?"

She paused, and for a second she withheld a steadfast appearance, but it soon faded, replaced by that guilty expression I had seen only a few times before.

"I don't wish to hide anything from you." She stated. "But at the same time…"

There was an awkward pause. While she was trying to find a way to explain, I was trying to figure it out for myself. She beat me to it.

"I don't want to scare you." Toby explained, "The title of _seer_ brings more than just a deeper perception and a greater intellect. It brings certain responsibilities that I believe you are far, far too young to understand, let alone cope with. I cannot bring myself to announcing you to our people, because that would mean expectations of you, especially in times such as these."

"Times?" I asked, not quite sure of what she meant. She still had told me nothing of our people's history.

She sighed. "This is not our world. This is not our home. This is not where we belong. I wish I could tell you why, but… I will wait until you are a little older."

I huffed petulantly, disappointed that yet more facts would be unavailable to me. Her statements, however brief, though, intrigued me.

"This Human home?" I asked from some corner of my mind.

Toby blinked and look over to me, eyes narrowed. "Yes, it is. How do you know that?"

I scratched my chin, not quite sure myself how I knew. "Toby tree not like other trees," I recalled. "Toby tree have white le-… paper. Say paper how Toby talk to Humans. Alphabet box also from humans. And…" Something tugged at my mind, and it finally caught up to its own pre-formed conclusion. "Toby talk like Human."

"You have met Humans before?" Toby asked.

"Father take Taku to see Humans." I explained. "Humans talk fast. Long. More words. Like Toby Hamee. Toby Hamee is _seer_, now talk like Humans. Talk like Humans because Toby _be_ with Humans."

Toby looked sick, and her jaw trembled, just barely but enough to notice.

"Toby is _different_. Taku is _different_, too. So if Toby be with Humans, maybe Taku be with Humans, too. But… No Humans here." I said, gesturing to the landscape around us. "Mother and Father say Toby Hamee save Hork-Bajir. Maybe Toby Hamee save Hork-Bajir from Humans."

She didn't quite know what to say, and for a while she just stared, emotions swirling visible over her. Then, she held out her hand for me to take, and pulled me a little closer, trying to break the awkward tension that had befallen us.

She whispered slowly to me. "Taku, I want you to have what I never did have. I want you to have a childhood. Don't worry about any of that now, please. Don't overthink this. This is why I haven't told you anything. Obviously, I misjudged your insight."

"Taku is _seer_, like Toby." I stated matter-of-factly.

"I know, Taku," She replied mournfully. "But that doesn't mean that you should live like I did. Be a child while you still can. Please."

I leaned against her side and watched her, picking up on her sincerity and her deep sorrow. As far as I was concerned, I was, and always had been, a child. I felt like a child, acted like a child.

I took my small piece of bark, and with a giggle I balanced it on the tip of Toby's snout. To my relief, she smiled warmly, and after balancing the bark for a while, she whipped out her tongue to snatch it into her waiting mouth.

"Come on, I should take you home."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Things changed so much in the weeks that followed my first visit to Toby's tree. I was amazed at the sheer amount of knowledge that I was able to pick up with little to no difficulty, and even Toby was stunned at how pacey my progress was. Within two days I had mastered the alphabet, and though my pronunciation wasn't quite perfected for another day or so, it wasn't long before I was learning how to read. Toby would take sheets of old paper from around the tree, and challenge me to read them. At first, I was asked to read one word at a time. Words became phrases, phrases became sentences. Soon, after about two or three weeks of intense training, I could read entire pieces of mail. Numbers were a little harder to grasp, especially when it came to manipulating them, performing sums or subtractions, but my previously unexpected mastery of the Hork-Bajir counting limitations was a telling premonition, and soon I was as equally well versed in numeracy as I was in the alphabet.

Though she had originally planned for me to visit daily, Toby would frequently be absent. She would never give me a straight reason as to why she would be gone, but I knew every time that her duties stretched far beyond that of anybody else that I knew. She was working with Humans, those strange, noisy creatures that were so rarely seen. My parents were more than happy to supervise me on such days, but when Toby was around she would pick me up from my school tree and tutor me for a few hours, before helping me home. She had become something of a third parent, which both Mother and Father acknowledged without issue.

At first, Toby insisted that I kept my gift to myself, but even she acknowledged that both my and her family members would soon let the fact slip, and I found more and more visitors climbing our home tree in the morning, eager to meet me and my family. My parents didn't mind the attention, and nor did I to an extent, but it sometimes became a bit overwhelming, especially during story nights and other such gatherings, when our people would badger me with questions. I never quite understood their curiosity, because Toby was still so reluctant to share her experiences, and on a couple of occasions I became irritated by the attention and left home for an early night's sleep.

I started at the school tree about a week after my first meeting with Toby. I was a little resistant to the idea at first, not feeling the need to go when I was already learning from what I had already realised was a more reliable source of information, but both my parents and Toby insisted vehemently that I should attend, not only to be with those of a similar age, but also because they would teach things on a more practical side than mathematics and literacy. Things like how to cut specific barks, how to plant new trees, how to build nests, were apparently just as important, especially when it came to my own well-being.

They also taught us what kinds of bark to avoid eating. I didn't pay attention at the time, but when I became violently ill a few days later after eating infected pine bark, I decided that perhaps school wasn't such a bad idea.

The concept of school, I have found since, is similar but not quite the same as the Human ideal. With Humans, juveniles are separated into groups according to age, and spend a specific amount of time sat in large buildings, either paying attention to their teachers and doing homework, or lazing off and tormented their fellow pupils. Hork-Bajir schools, however, never really have set hours, and most of the time is spent practically. The teacher gathers _kawatnoj_ of varying ages at a designated school tree, and from there decides what will be taught, and takes us all to whatever destination is suited to that lesson. For example, if we were to be taught how to cut bark from a maple, we would spend the day in a host of maple trees. We could leave whenever we wanted to, unless the teacher deemed a specific lesson important enough for us to require the information. For the most part, I would doss around and play games with my peers.

I was not shy when it came to making friends, having spent a good amount of time before attending school introducing myself to the other _kawatnoj_ in the local area. As soon as I began, I already found myself in a small gang. When time would allow, we would do all the things that _kawatnoj _should do, like frantic games, exploring and finding new places, and even playing the occasional prank on some unsuspecting locals. I was an immature, developing juvenile doing what any immature, developing juvenile would do, before I aged and became a more mature, calmed individual that all Hork-Bajir become when adulthood sets in.

Toby was to be away for a week. A week is seven days, she had told me, and she had been gone for six, so I didn't expect her to be around to tutor me after school. Mother or Father would take me home, or perhaps Lenk, though that was a much rarer occurrence. Mother was the one to drop me off at the school tree on that particular day, and she left me with a long kiss and wished me good luck, still so attached to me and unwilling to leave me without her parental supervision. Once she had left in search of some chore to get on with, I joined up with my closest friends in ascending the large Cottonwood tree that was a designated meeting point.

My closest friends consisted of two male _kawatnoj_ not living too far from my own home tree. Ruga was about the same age as me, and about the same height, but his unusually down-turned arm blades and stumpy tail were traits I often teased him about in the usual childish manner. He didn't mind it, and he often had his own ways of getting back at me. According to him, I had fat toes.

Pluk was older than both I and Ruga, and though it was just by a few weeks, his height would make anyone think he was much older. He was massively tall for his age, and built sturdily to match. Nevertheless, he had a particularly sensitive sense of humour, and even the sound of crickets in the evenings would send him into fits of giggles.

I had plenty of other friends, but Pluk and Ruga were the closest, and at the school tree it was exceedingly hard to separate us. I had no real enemies, but considering that Hork-Bajir naturally don't make enemies due to our docile and peaceful natures, that was no surprise.

It turns out that Hork-Bajir as a species do have enemies, but I would find out about that later.

There was something else about that period in my life which I am often ashamed to admit. I was a bit of a bully. Actually, perhaps _bully_ is too strong a word. A bully, in Human terms, is someone who is violent towards others, or deliberately hurtful, usually for egotistical benefits. Hork-Bajir aren't really capable of those things, nor are we willing to do them, so perhaps a better word to describe me at the time would be troublesome. Sometimes I would say things that could be considered hurtful, but I was still at an age where I had no filter, and thoughts would often fly from my mouth unchecked. Coupled with my rapidly increasing vocabulary and, dare I say, cockiness born from all the attention I had been receiving, I may have said things to some peers that I wish I could take back now. In one such case, I would trade anything to take back what I said…

"Taku slow today." Ruga called down from above me, already reaching the canopy of the Cottonwood where a few of our peers were waiting. "Maybe Taku toes slow Taku down."

Pluk reacted with his signature laugh, having reached the canopy before the both of us. "Taku too busy make think." He said, tapping his temple with a claw.

I grunted back up to them, increasing my climbing pace to prove them wrong. "I don't have fat toes, and I don't think too hard to climb."

I pulled myself up between two dispersing branches and leant myself against the most upright one. Above and below us, sat among the various other branches of the large Cottonwood were the rest of our school, most of whom were the product of last year's breeding season. They chirped and chattered between themselves, wondering where Meeg Hapul, our teacher, would take us today.

"Pluk want go to hot springs." Pluk muttered, wrapping his arms over his chest and rubbing at his upper arms. "Pluk cold."

"Go to hot springs yesterday." Ruga mentioned. "And Pluk always cold."

"Pluk not." He grumbled. "See snow yesterday."

I baulked in disbelief. "You didn't see snow. It too early for snow."

Pluk shook his head. "Not too early! See snow yesterday. That way." He pointed off in a northerly direction, a look of absolute conviction on his face.

"No. Toby told me that-" I hesitated, suddenly finding a flaw in Pluk's assertion. "Have you ever see snow before?" I asked him.

He blinked. "Pluk… No."

"So how you know if you see snow if you not know what snow is?"

He remained silent, puzzled and seeking an explanation that never came.

"What is snow?" Ruga asked.

I smiled and stood up straight from the branch that I had leant on. "Toby Hamee told me about snow. Snow is cold and white, and it fall from the sky."

Ruga huffed. "Why Toby Hamee so special? Taku always talk about Toby Hamee."

"Toby Hamee is _different_. Like Taku." Pluk explained to him.

"Toby Hamee have fat toes, too?" Ruga teased. I barked my disapproval at him. Pluk laughed.

Pluk uttered a shiver, blowing condensed air from his nostrils. "Pluk want talk about something warm."

"Like what?" I asked.

He paused to think, then a relieved smile struck his face, and he leaned back into his nook, cooing. "Talk about camp fire. Warm camp fire."

I smiled, recalling the feeling of cool nights, warming myself by the heat of a fire in the midst of friends and family. "A good story, too."

Pluk nodded and grinned. "Good story. Story about being warm."

We took a moment to relish the feeling of comfort, and I found myself relaxed against the branch again, eyes drooping lazily.

"This boring." Ruga interjected. "Where is Meeg Hapul?"

I snorted a laugh. "Meeg Hapul is too fat to climb the tree."

It was partly true. She _was_ on the chunkier side, relative to other Hork-Bajir, at least.

I noticed that Pluk didn't laugh, and that was totally unexpected. Ruga had wrapped his hand over his snout.

"Taku Kelmut be nice." The voice of Meeg spoke from behind me. I turned and looked her in the eyes. She appeared unaffected by my comment, probably because she had gotten so used to my careless comments.

Of course, I never tried to say such things in her presence, but she always managed to turn up when I least expected it.

She yawned widely, brushing off my comment and turning to address the entire group. "Meeg here now! We cut fir bark today!"

There was a collective groan.

Meeg chuckled to herself, before descending down the tree trunk. "Follow Meeg!"

After making a few of my peers laugh when I over-exaggerated the shaking of the tree when Meeg climbed down, the group of us followed her over the open land that surrounded the collection of Cottonwood trees and over to the much denser collection of trees where the Douglas-firs were.

The Douglas-firs were large trees, with thick bark that was hard to cut into at such a young age. Not only that, but the bark itself wasn't particularly tasty. Apparently it was useful for other things, but that was something else that I had neglected to pay attention to. We arrived on the edge of the fir collection, passing by a patch of saplings that we as a group had planted just last week.

Meeg stopped us beside a large fir that already had the bark around its base harvested. A pile of loose, cut-up bark had been left between two out-sticking roots, prepared specifically for our lesson. Meeg held up one of the slices and turned to face us.

"This fir bark." She stated, waving the thick slab in the air for all to see. "Meeg tell you how to cut fir bark before. Remember?"

The group muttered amongst itself, neither a yes nor a no.

Meeg nodded, and proceeded to hand out each individual slab of bark, an indicator or how our harvest should look. We all had to resist the urge to nibble at it, something which would have been impossible were the bark more desirable.

There was a short lesson to witness on how exactly to harvest the bark. Meeg easily sliced into the trunk with her wrist blade, telling us to keep the angle of impact straight so as to avoid accidental snaps. From there, she proceeded to create several indentations until she was happy enough to utilise her elbow blades. Within a minute, she held a perfect slice of bark for us to witness.

"Now you do." She suggested, pointing to dense collection of firs to the left. Then she began to eat the bark that she had just cut, and I silently provided my companions with another fat joke. Pluk's laughing almost gave me away.

We segregated ourselves, I of course being with Pluk and Ruga, and together we found a rather pathetic fir, one that hadn't yet been chosen by our peers. The bark looked twisted and unpleasant. The runt of the litter, so to speak.

Ruga huffed. "Need better tree. This bark no good."

I wholeheartedly agreed, cursing our luck that in wasting time kicking around a stray pine cone, we had taken the last choice of tree. Despite our optimism, climbing up the trunk to see if the bark improved higher up, there was nothing salvageable. At least, nothing that wouldn't likely make us ill.

My friends, once they had given up looking, settled at the base of the tree, and proceeded to groom themselves to cure the boredom. Meanwhile, my calculative mind was still searching, working out how best to succeed on our mission. The other firs all contained our peers who had split off, and we couldn't take from their trees, because the harvestable patches were too small to occupy more than three individuals. Perhaps there were more firs in another direction…

Suddenly, the sound of bark being sliced from our left. Considering that the rest of our school group was to our right, it meant that someone else was taking bark from the firs. I twisted my neck to look past a few pines, seeing a couple more firs nearby. They looked far more appetising than the one that we originally found ourselves with.

There was somebody up in the canopy, stood on a few out-thrusting branches and holding onto the trunk. On closer look, he was an adult male, on his own to gather what I assumed to be his breakfast, perhaps for his mate, assuming he had one.

I hatched a plan.

Jumping past Ruga and Pluk, I threw my wrist blade square into the bark of our runty tree. After a couple of minutes struggling, doing my best to pry free a slab, I managed to tear off an excessively large piece. I knocked on it, making sure that it wasn't rotting or too damp.

"What Taku do?" Ruga questioned, watching me closely but staying seated.

I grinned mischievously, holding up the flat piece of bark against my chest. "We are getting some bark."

Pluk looked puzzled. "But this tree have bad bark."

"Not from _this_ tree."

I briefed them on the plan that I had conjured, something not too unlike the pranks we had performed in the past, and this time it provided a benefit, not just enjoyment. Ruga and Pluk were, as usual, slow on the uptake, but on the third attempt at explaining it, they got the gist.

"Taku is _different_." Pluk mentioned, something that I had begun to hear quite regularly, whenever I did or said something that others considered a little above their heads. The prank wasn't too complicated, but I highly doubted that any normal Hork-Bajir would come up with it. For one thing, it involved depriving the adult of his food (for now), and any ordinary Hork-Bajir wouldn't see that as an option.

But then, I was no ordinary Hork-Bajir.

The three of us waited nearby as the adult busied himself, ripping shreds of bark from his tree until he had enough, and he could carry no more. When he finally left, bark under his arms, we sprang into action. I had already pierced a hole at one end of our own strip of bark, and looped a rope through it that Pluk had made from strong fibres. We then hurried over to the small patch of firs and dispersed, sniffing our ways up and down different trees, using our senses of sight, touch and smell to detect the best harvesting spot, knowing full well that if the adult returned, he would find the same location and harvest it for himself.

We found our best spot, and from there we looked for the nearest sturdy branches, and we required at least two, both of which needed to stick out at a shallow angle and be a small-enough distance apart so that our slab could sit comfortably on top of them. Fortunately, an almost perfect pair of branches was just below the harvesting patch. With some more rope, we tied the slab down to just one of the branches, creating a hinge. When we pulled on the rope that we had looped through the bark from below, the whole slab flipped upwards. Once secured, we retreated to the base of the tree and hid among the undergrowth.

Everything was in place, and now we just had to wait.

We didn't have to wait long, and the adult returned with a big smile on his face and a spring in his step. For a moment I felt a little guilty for what we were about to do, but I had assured myself and the others that we would make it up to him later. He eagerly began exploring the trees, hugging himself to the trunks and sniffing out a prime location to begin his second round of harvesting.

As expected, he settled on the area with the most appealing bark, and seeing a large flat slab nearby where he could safely deposit his cuttings, he couldn't quite believe his luck. He thrust a wrist blade into the tree and began the harvest.

Pluk giggled. Not wanting our presence to be announced, Ruga and I shushed him. I held my hands firmly around the rope that was attached to the hinged slab up above, ready to pull when the time was right.

The adult finished his first cutting. He held it, inspected it for anything amiss, and kneeled down to drop it on the slab we had laid. Happy with its security, he went back to cutting up the trunk.

I yanked the rope, and the slab flicked upwards, thrusting the newly-cut bark into the air and down towards us. Ruga caught it with a grin and dropped it between us. The system worked perfectly.

Pluk giggled again, and we shushed him with a little more force this time. He clutched both hands around his snout, but still chuckled away silently. Meanwhile, I was grinning, proud of the trap that I had set and its performance thus far.

The adult had sliced up his second piece, and he bent down again. The second bark hit the now-descended slab, but before he could turn back towards the trunk he performed an almost cartoonish double-take, noticing that the first piece had vanished seemingly into thin air. He froze for a few seconds, and I could see the confusion and uncertainty run over his face.

He shook it off, likely thinking that it had simply slipped off the side, and went back to his harvest, completely unaware of our trick. I almost burst out laughing, myself.

This time around, in order to avoid his suspicion forcing him to search elsewhere, we let him build a larger pile on the slab. Once I had counted eight pieces of bark being deposited, I warned Ruga and pulled the rope once more. The bark rained down upon us, but Ruga performed his task well and stopped the bigger pieces from causes any alerting noise. I loosened my grip on the rope slowly for it to reposition.

On this occasion, the adult took far more notice when the eight slabs of bark he had collected disappeared. He stared closely at the depositing slab, bending down to prod it and inspect its sturdiness. Then he looked past it, wondering if perhaps the bark had all fallen over the side. He would see nothing, as we had hidden out of sight and taken the fallen pieces with us.

"Kee-RAW!"

His head bolted around as Pluk's unhindered laughter echoed through the trees. Thankfully, as if some miracle had shone down upon us, the distance between us and him made the laugh's location difficult to pinpoint. However, I got the feeling that the adult was on the verge of sussing that he was being tricked.

I shook my head at Pluk, who had clamped his snout shut again, looking quite embarrassed. Knowing full well that it would happen again, I kicked a piece of rope to Ruga, who tied it tightly around Pluk's snout. Pluk couldn't resist laughing at the situation, but now his laughter consisted of muffled huffs and his cheeks bulging on exhale.

The adult, now cautious and paranoid, slowly began to chip away at his tree again, frequently turning to gaze at the slab where his third pile was building. Nevertheless, with precise timing, I was once again able to fling the new pile of 13 pieces without him noticing.

He barked when he turned to find it missing again. He had grown angry.

"This Yuru bark!" He shrieked. "Where bark go?!"

Ruga and I snickered. Pluk's eyes were beginning to water. This was tremendous fun.

And then another idea popped into my head.

"My name is Tree!" I shouted up to him. While I spoke, I pulled on the slab rope in time with each syllable. Yuru gaped noticeably, my timing convincing enough that he thought the slab itself was speaking to him.

"Thank you for your bark!" I continued. "Very tasty. Mmmm."

Yuru was frozen completely, barely able to stammer out nonsense syllables.

"Tree is angry with Yuru! Yuru stand on Tree so long! Poke Tree with your claws! Scratch Tree with your blades!"

Yuru shook his head, placing his hands to his snout and chewing on his claws, a saddened look in his eyes.

"Now Tree is mad!" I exclaimed, resisting the urge to break into a fit of laughter. "Tree take all of Yuru's bark! Yuru must appease Tree!"

Yuru whimpered, his tail quivering and held between his legs. "Yuru sorry, Tree…"

"Yuru must bring blankets to Tree! All of Yuru's blankets. Yuru must put the blankets on Tree's roots, so Tree doesn't get cold!"

The adult sobbed loudly. "But… But Yuru… But… Tree…"

"Go!" I screeched.

He sure did go. I don't think I have ever seen anyone disappear so speedily since.

Now I was unable to resist the itch in my chest, and both I and Ruga were soon writhing on the ground, succumbing to the laughter that had been fighting to escape. Pluk tore away the rope around his snout and joined us.

"Work so good!" Ruga commented when he had finally caught his breath. "Now have so much good bark!"

I nodded. "We have enough. Let's take it all to Meeg and hope she not eat it all."

With plenty of barks clutched under our arms, we made our way happily back to the edge of the woods where Meeg was waiting, grooming her wrist blades. She seemed totally convinced that the bark we held was our own, and she even told us how well we had done, how expertly it had been cut. Once again, we had to stop Pluk from spoiling the secret with his laughter, and he continued to snicker and giggle when we returned to the woods, leaving the entire collection of bark beside the tree for Yuru to find when he came to plant blankets at its base.

With the day's lesson pretty much finished, it was time to play, something that, as _kawatnoj_, we did very well. I needed to pass the time before my supervisor arrived, anyway.

Today we were playing a game called Catch. We use pinecones, and Pluk had found a very large, hefty one for us to throw around. I was never the best at Catch, and Pluk, being the most athletically built of the three of us, was always able to beat us.

"Pluk throw too hard!" Ruga moaned when he failed to catch a throw that was perhaps three feet from his reach.

"Ruga too slow." Pluk countered, sticking out his long tongue and punctuating it with a laugh.

Ruga grumbled and picked up the loose pinecone. He raised his arm, pulled back, and tossed it over to me. I caught it with ease, thanks to his accurate throw.

I heard footsteps padding up behind me as I was about to launch the pinecone to Pluk. I turned to see Relk, a female of my age, smiling up at me. She was a familiar face, but only from my time with the school group. I never spent time with her outside of such locations, either due to distance or because I didn't feel the need to. She was quite short for her age, but her blades were pronounced and deep in colour, her tail lengthy and thick.

"Hello, Taku Kelmut." She squeaked.

"Hello, Relk." I mumbled.

Her appearance, and her interruption of our game, was uninteresting to me. I wanted to play my game, and wasn't in the mood to talk to near-strangers.

Relk, however, was obviously bored, and she slithered up to me, a big grin on her snout. "Taku play Catch." She noted.

"Yes, I am playing Catch." I replied, preparing once again to throw the pinecone to Pluk.

"Relk like Catch."

My throw was again interrupted, and I huffed indignantly. "Okay. I like Catch, too. So, I will play Catch with Ruga and Pluk."

Relk pushed herself in front of me, insistent. "Relk play Catch, too?"

"No," I snapped, weary of her intrusion. "This game is for me, Ragu and Pluk. You not allowed to play."

Her smile dropped instantaneously, her whole form slumping. "Why Relk not play?"

"Relk snout too big." I responded.

She put a hand over it, offended. "Relk snout not too big!"

I laughed. "It is! Your snout is as big as Meeg's belly."

Relk had had enough, and with a sad sob she sprinted away. She wouldn't be interrupting our games again for a while.

Toby retrieved me a short while later, having returned early from her duties elsewhere, when Pluk had dominated the game of Catch enough for us to give up and sit around feeding for the remaining time. When she asked me how my day of school was, I avoided telling her how I had pranked one of our fellow people and rather selfishly denied a fellow _kawatnoj_ entry into our game. Somehow, though, I don't think my impersonation of a perfect student was convincing to her. It was as if she knew that I was up to no good, but that she didn't care. She probably didn't _need_ to care. After all, I was just a _kawatnoj_, and in time I would grow up to be a sensible, mature adult.

But things that you do when you are young may have a dramatic effect on you as you age. Toby said nothing about that at first. I'm sure that she left it for me to figure out on my own.


End file.
